Writing is therapeutic

For me, atleast. I don't know about you. But after I wrote my post the other night I felt better. Not whole, but better. And thank you to those who have emailed, called, texted, etc. You've provided me with strength, support, and good counsel. I also emailed an extremely long note to someone else...which was even more therapeutic than this blog. And that email prompted a good conversation. So things are progressing in a variety of ways.

There are details that will probably always remain between me and God through all of this. Being the open book that I am, that's hard for me to accept. But it's probably for the best.

I learned last night that I have no clue how to pray. I know my prayers have been answered in the past. I know I only got through some phases of my life because of Him. But I have forgotten how to pray since I left Venezuela 10 years ago. Perhaps part of me doesn't want to open up anymore.

I've felt so overwhelmed the past 10 years, where do I even start? Many times, I'll get on my knees, think about "stuff," and eventually just get back up without even saying a word. I told God last night that I felt like I was talking to myself. I asked if I could talk to an angel so I could carry on a conversation--knowing that He could send one of necessary...but also knowing that it wouldn't happen...but it could. Then I started to scare myself and I backed off my request.

Prayer takes energy. And I haven't had that for years. My emotions are high and I'm fighting them. One of my goals is to figure out how to pray again...and know that my prayers go beyond the ceiling. I'm assuming it will take months or even years. One of those life lessons on endurance.

Through my recent struggles, part of me was hoping the world would come to an end...my life would fall apart...but neither thing happened. And now the really tough part begins--I have to continue moving forward and follow through. Oh...that's right. This is where faith and hope come in to play. Things we're taught all our lives but don't really understand until the devil stares us in the eyes.

Satan was attacking me on all fronts and he knew I was wearing down. God knows. And I'm still weak. But I took some steps yesterday to improve my many situations. Now I have to stick to it.

I'm that much closer...

I want to be done. My priorities are all wrong. I know what's right but I don't do it. I'm exhausting myself and I struggle to know if it's really worth it. I negotiate and battle a constant internal struggle. I want to scream and cry and be done so I can have some relief and be happy. But would that really bring happiness? It's too much. The weight is too heavy. And my pride dictates that I carry it further.

Where can I turn for peace? Where is my solace
When other sources cease to make me whole?
When with a wounded heart, anger, or malice,
I draw myself apart, Searching my soul?

Where, when my aching grows, Where, when I languish,
Where, in my need to know, where can I run?
Where is the quiet hand to calm my anguish?
Who, who can understand? He, only One.

He answers privately, Reaches my reaching
In my Gethsemane, Savior and Friend.
Gentle the peace he finds for my beseeching.
Constant he is and kind, Love without end.
--Text by Emma Lou Thayne

What do you do when all the answers lie before you, yet you refuse to accept them? I can't do it anymore.