After the words I wrote yesterday about mourning with those who mourn, combined with the words I wrote last week about not telling people when you pray, I felt a little bit overwhelmed.
Emotionally raw.
Spiritually well but physically tired.
I felt, and still feel, a bit conflicted.
First I write about praying in secret, and then I write about how I spent an evening praying. And I feel silly about both.
I write words like I'm in a season of life where and it makes me feel a little bit like a flake. Aren't we all in a season of life? Why do they have to be called seasons? What's a better word than seasons?
And then I feel conflicted about my words themselves. Why did I feel the need to share them? Are my words valuable? Do they matter?
What would happen if I stopped blogging? Would I still have as much joy in life? Would I feel a little bit incomplete? Does blogging matter? How am I utilizing my blog to share the Gospel?
It was really nice to open up my draft last night and see this Psalm sitting here, all pretty and ready to be shared.
God is the one who I turn to with these questions. For all of my questions for that matter.
I can turn to wise friends, and unwise friends, family and peers, but ultimately, I really want to keep getting better at taking these questions to Jesus.
Keep shifting my eyes to the One I love.
