From journaling at Kerry Park:
Maybe I've forgotten how to pray. Maybe I never really learned how. It was always just something that was on the back burner, not as important as going to church, reading the Word, worship, and loving people. But I have to talk to God. When my words are all muddled for anyone else, He understands these impossible thoughts.
Oh Lord my God, all I want is you. To be consumed by you. To be blinded to everything except you. I want to radiate your love to the world, to prove to everyone that they have purpose and they are loved so much more than they can ever imagine. I want people to know they are held.
God, why do I feel more called to pray for strangers than for my family, for my friends? Why do my thoughts automatically go to Parker, to Rodger, to Noah? Do they actually need my prayer, or is it just some ridiculous distraction that I can't shake?
Lord God, how can I feel so content and hopeful, and yet empty? How do I know if I'm growing or if I'm sliding backwards at five million miles per minute? How can I distinguish your voice from all the static between my ears?
Breathe. Trust. Love. Just as you are called to. Ok, Anna?
A spent match lies atop the memorial plaque. In honor of... Why do we have so many memories of the dead?
Treading throuh the cemetary, dirt crackling under my soles, the quietest breath disturbing th peace. So many graves. So many lives. So many stories that I've missed. As years pass, how much do we know? How much do we see? How much are we part of? How do we know if we're doing what we're supposed to be doing?
The sun comes with peace, tempting the air to pretend it's summer for one more day, before the heaviness of rain (or snow) storms back into the city. Allow us to breathe in the freshness of a new day.
Oh, the glory of it all is You are here with redemption for us all, so we may live. For the glory of it all, the glory of it all...