How much do you love me?

How much do you love me?

Do you love me enough,

to hug away my tears,

to hold me when I cry,

to put me on my feet,

when everything feels wrong?

Do you love me enough,

to know who I am,

and still be there,

even when I cry,

for no reason at all?

Do you love me enough,

to stay by my side,

when I've lost track,

of who I am

and what I want?

Do you love me enough,

to catch me when I fall,

stop the out of control,

downward spiral

of my crashing mood?

Do you love me enough,

to be worthy of my trust,

to keep me safe

and not break my heart,

if I let you touch it?

Calling

Calling. I don't know what it means to me.

I was a teenager the first time I read Jeremiah 1 in church and it was overwhelming for me, as not much more than a child, to read Jeremiah's protests that he was only a child and therefore could not speak for a God. God called him anyway saying "I'll give you words" and that gave me the terrifying, fascinating sense that God has a purpose for me and I must find it.

To think there's a grand plan for me and yet I've been left out of the loop is scary. I want to be in control. I want to know what's going on and where I'm going. I know I've spent more than enough time praying to be shown the map, given the step by step directions, and allowed to read them backwards, so I don't have to guess at where I'm going, but really what I need is trust.

The people I trust are few and far between. I don't trust easily, but when I start to trust it's the turning point in my relationships with other people, and that is what I need with God far more than I need to see the end of the mystery before I open the cover.

Prompt: Write a prayer for discernment or call to action.

You are my sanctuary.

God you are my sanctuary,

my safe place,

my space to rest,

the arms I long to hold me,

the voice of love

in a friend reaching out to me.

You are my sanctuary.

You make me a sanctuary.

You hold me close,

when I feel alone.

You are everything I long for

even when I don't know it.

You are my comfort and teacher.

You are the hand that guides me,

the friend that comforts me,

and the spirit in me

when it's my turn to be a comfort.

You prepare me to be a sanctuary

and you are my sanctuary.

You are my voice and guide in the silence.

You are my strength.

You lift me up when I fall

and hold my hand

when I feel like I'm floating away.

Smudges

If I tell you the truth...
Will you believe me?
Will you understand?
Or will I have to hide?
Will it be ok,
this part of me is me?
Will you see the need,
or write me off,
say it's wrong,
disallow this part of me?
Will you still respect me?
Will you still believe in me?
Will you still love me,
if you know,
I'm not all white and pure,
there's smudges on my innocent act,
and I kinda,
like them there?


Prompt from A Writer's Book of Days: If I tell you the truth...

Trustworthy

This foreign word,
you say is me?
It's not that I'm,
unworthy, per-say,
but... why me?
Why trust me when,
I'm so untrusting,
hiding behind a screen,
lost in tight-lipped silence?
Why not tell,
a better friend,
someone you've known,
more than I'll talk?
I wouldn't tell a secret,
but surely there's,
more worthy keepers,
of these things,
you trust me with?