Perhaps I shared a little too much in my last post, my prayer, my pouring out. Perhaps I didn't, though. If you know prayer, you know that words are only the starting point, that spirit speaks in feelings, in memory, in hopes, in dreams, in soul-language that words cannot begin to express.
I am afraid I may have embarrassed some readers with such open, worried some friends who might think I said too much.
Please know, I didn't mean to cause discomfort, if I did.
As I was writing, I wondered, "why here, why so public a place?" and God gave me peace to trust Him with it, trust Him with my heart, trust Him to know why He led this pouring out, this open window into my soul.
Someone asked me once why I write the personal things I write in such a public place. I don't always know the answer, except that if you were here and we were face to face, I would share it there too; why should I be less? Maybe I am a shallow person, that so much of me that seems so deep can be shared. But there is more; there is so much more. Things I won't write here, things I can't confess, things I hardly dare say within myself, say to my husband, say to God.
I almost beg Him for explanation: "why did You make me this way?" This complicated, multi-leveled, faceted, crazy-mad way that grows deeper with every encounter with His infinity, when He probes the depths of me and I explain what I know and find that He knows more and is simply waiting for me to open up to Him.
The things I shared in my last post are things at which I have hinted in myriads of posts, but I had to say them. I had to say them because they are the old things, the familiar things, the comfortable struggles to which I cling because I almost don't want to move into Him. They are the symptoms of my stalemate with God, the one I inevitably lose, the one that I wonder at when I look back on it when He has opened soul-windows further into His heart.
I have been playing with partial images lately. I intended to pull out into wide-angle shooting this year with my photography, but the partial images fascinate me now. The ones that offer mystery, that leave me curious, that invite imagination and open windows into other worlds.
This is one such shot, the half-open window with only part of a view.
My life is like that lately, half-open. People looking in get only a partial view, varied by their perspective, their angle, the lighting. There is more window, further open, things only God knows, because I can't get the window up the whole way without help.
I don't know what He is doing; I know that He wants me to rest. I cannot think much past the brain fog and the weakness from diet changes and medicinal adjustments. I take a lot of pictures, think in colors and feel words that won't come when I need them.
I'm uncomfortable. Waiting. Like being pregnant, knowing labor is coming, knowing I will soon give birth, hold joy. It's the getting there I don't know about.
It is hope groaning that holds me here.
(Image © Informal Moments Photography)