Heartache

I take pains to keep my identity hidden; it's is frivolous, really, since most people who read this know who I am. But there is a semblance of dignity here, of anonymity that allows me to post the cries and passions of my heart. I haven't posted for ages, mostly because of a lack of time and energy. But I still have a small hope that maybe this blog, at times, speaks to people and gives them a stronger Hope.

I generally post out of the passion of my heart, and, in a sense, this post is such. But this time, I thought I'd post my cry to my God. This post is not for you. This is for me. Yet, if God in his wisdom uses this for you, then glory to him that the prayer of a weak-eyed man makes a difference:

Dearest Saviour, why do you torture me so? I have such passions of love and hope, yet I am tongue-tied and torn. You have given me such a cautious spirit, but the prudence means so much is left unsaid. Would it be so wrong, God, to speak unfiltered from the heart? Would it cause so much evil?

Yet, I know the answer, God. We are not called to live selfish lives, prostituting our hearts to any. Rather we are called to speak with psalms and hymns, words of compassion and hope. To speak unfiltered is to speak without you, without the wisdom you have given me in the few years I have had on this earth. But how, Lord, to I conquer these burning emotions within me? I have so little time before I will lose them again...

But it is not about me, is it? It is not about my passion, but yours. When I speak and act from my own heart, throwing care and caution to the wind, I neglect you and bear the evils that come from that stupidity. If I speak and act as you will, however, then I will be a blessing and a hope. Maybe I was not supposed to speak yet. Maybe it is not time. Maybe it will never be.

Lord, teach me to be patient for the end of days. Make your patience the bricks and mortar of my heart. Make your wisdom the source of my words. Teach me to live for them, and not for me. That is why I am here, isn't it? So mold me in your image, dear Lord. And thank you, for those few, those precious few.

This was not for you. It was for me. But who knows God's plans, eh?