God has felt so far away lately.
I don’t feel His presence, His reassurance, His healing, His love. I need Him so badly right now – and I don’t feel Him near.
I sit down with my journal and my Bible, determined to read and write and pray my way into His presence. But His presence doesn’t come, I can’t enter in, and my journal session turns angry.
The pages start with pleadings for Him to draw near. The pleadings turn into questions, the questions turn into demands. The demands become sloppy large letters as all I can do is rage at God for everything. Why am I lonely? Why am I single? Why am I so unhappy with myself? Why hasn’t He brought healing yet? Why hasn’t being the good Christian girl brought me a better life? Why aren’t You here?
The pages fill with bitterness, with anger. My hurt breaks out of its cage and spills over into the rest of my heart, awakening other, more destructive emotions. It’s easier to be mad than to admit weakness, helplessness, fear.
Because at the root of it is fear: that I am not good enough for God. That He has given up on me. That I am not worth His attention.
And as the anger calms and my heart breaks yet again, the pages fill with tears.
So I close the book before my tears can make the ink run, place it on my dresser with my Bible and pen and devotional and books that are supposed to help me draw closer to God, but right now serve only as a reminder of how far away I am.
I turn off the light and crawl under the covers, praying only Lord, please, because I have no other words, and fall asleep hoping that tomorrow, maybe He will not feel so far.