Day 40


I am tired.

I wanted to tell her this,

God. When she asked, 

what’s wrong? I froze inside. 

Not because I was worried 

about how long the time would 

last. No. I felt found. You’re so quiet, she 

said. It wasn’t in a way that typically 

makes me want to shut off, but in a way 

that asked my heart to come 

confide. I wanted to ask questions & not 

be all me, me, me. Even though I was 

tired. Even though I’m not good at asking 

questions I feel. But she turned around 

and asked me that and God, it’s like I’m 

still learning it’s okay to trust. And I’m 

not annoying when I text long things and 

want to read the bible together. And to 

walk out of Panera together and feel her 

hold the weakest of my hands. Or maybe 

it was my arm. It was like You were there, 

watching as the verse became a real 

thing: don’t be afraid. I will take you by 

your right hand. I will help you. She 

helped me up. And down the sidewalk. In 

the freezing cold,

with 2 drinks. And a cookie my brother 

wound up eating because I was so in the 

moment until she left that early morning

& then forgot the next day. Because as 

much as You know I love chocolate, I 

heard You

 in ways that night that felt like hope & 

joy rising; a day at the bookstore just to 

talk and look through, an offer of two 

books to read later. A day to watch 

movies and shows together. And a 

willingness to want to make church less 

of a place I view unsafe and 

condemnation and anger. To go with me. 

I can’t help but think she’ll hold my hand 

(Or arm) through the fear. This soul 

sister. I know it is You. 


Day 41


And today, I heard the enemy really try to get to me. No one will hold your hand. You don’t let yourself have other experiences to stop from past experiences with the church. Oh yay, magnolia by Ellie Holcomb. You trying to get the tears to flow? That last one was me, God. Not the enemy. 

But the more you try, the more you’re failing. 

No place to call your home except your heartache. 

Yep, that’s me. I don’t hide that I’m okay being alone with you. There’s nothing else right now I want to do. I don’t have the capacity to talk to people, let alone take in what they are saying. Even if they are trying to help. I mean, I do want to talk, as you saw with Kelly, but it’s different than with family or the job people. I don’t feel as afraid. Or push to come up with something. Or shut down. 

 I feel I’m given time to speak. Or be silent. Or just be. Or sing. And Monday night made me feel different. Seen, once I let a bit of my guard down. I mean the singing felt way vulnerable. My cheeks were burning with shame because I was singing the truth. And I felt this calm and emptiness at the same time because you were there, but it takes me so long to believe it. 

That maybe there’s hope for me. The fact that I said I want to give church a chance again is weird. And what I heard earlier just wants to press down on me, make me cry. I feel them come, Lord and then they fall a little then pass. But I feel there’s more. Why does being loved have to feel like a war? Why can’t I rest in it more? Why do all these lies want to pummel me to the floor?

I need you, God.


Your tender-haired girl 

Ps. Thank you for singing to me. Thank you. Thank you. 

Previous letter here.


One thought on “1/3-4/18

  1. Pingback: 1/5/18 | crippledatYourtable

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