Colorful Monsters

I wrote this a little while back . . . maybe two weeks ago. I think it still applies. Especially to today . . .

I'm not sure that I should be writing here. I'm not sure I really have anything to say, but maybe Jesus will say something to me as I type.

Tonight, I have a lot of silly things inside of me. I imagine them as little, colorful children's monsters (but the funny kind, not particularly the scary kind), flapping around their furry selves, chatting with each other, but you see, they're way too active. They're not orderly, and though I suppose they're happy maybe, I'm not very at peace here, little monsters! Come on now.

Now . . . I wonder if You'd come, Jesus? I'm sorry about the mess here. I know. There's monsters. I don't think they're that mean. Oh. That doesn't matter does it.

My hands. You want to see my hands? Oh Jesus, I . . .

Yes. (I was told once that one can't say "No, Lord," . . . that it's an oxymoron. Anyways.)

But Daddy? Oh . . . no buts. How about I just sit here? On the operating table. You can just take it all. All. Then I don't have to do anything. I'll go numb. Give me the anesthesia.

Oh. That's not how it works, is it?

Sometimes, You test the depth of my surrender, don't You? Do You do it so I know? I can't imagine You're happy, Love. I'm so much more selfish than I even know. I can't imagine why You still remain faithful to me. Why You still "wrestle with [my] sinner's heart," why You "lead me by still waters and into mercy." Please, please . . . don't give up on me.

"You dance over me, and I am unaware. You sing all around, and I never hear the sound."

You amaze me.

I am so undeserving, but sometimes I forget that in my heart. I don't want to forget, Lord? You deserve all the things I don't surrender. You don't deserve my selfishness, and I hate this. I feel like Hosea's girl. You deserve so much better than me, Jesus. I know the names of the type of people who redeem their title of being Yours. Well, they seem like they do. I'm the rebellious one. The One that argues with You and doesn't know how I could possibly give up the things I hold so fiercely on to. And sometimes I just wish we could go away to that place at the base of the mountain where You and I could just dance. But until then.

Will You come in?