I have spoken before about my faith. It is no secret that I tend to have an open mind about other religions and, certainly, social issues.
For some time now, there has been a whispering. A fleeting feeling that ignites my nerves, leaving them tingling with anticipation; like the seconds before an embrace with an old friend you haven't seen in a long time.
And I knew the voice behind the whisper. I knew the warmth from the embrace.
10 Those who know your name trust in you,
for you, Lord, have never forsaken those who seek you
One of my dearest friends sent me this passage. She didn't know that it was my favorite; one that was highlighted and underlined and prayed over, time and time again, in my beloved and tattered bible when I was in high school.
Last week another of my dearest friends-- my oldest and my best-- sent me this picture:
It's a flower she picked during a mission trip with our youth group one summer. My flower was being pressed in my old and tattered bible, on the page with the prayed over lines of Psalm 9. That bible has long since been gone; a casualty of an abusive relationship, thrown in the dumpster to hurt me.
But I still remember the way its thin, dried petals felt between my fingers as I closed my eyes in prayer. I still remember the Wednesday night of that mission trip, where the entire sanctuary was filled with the presence of God. I remember crying to our youth leader, "When I lost God, you helped me find him."
For these remembrances and for the whispering. For the longing for that embrace with an old friend. For the promise made in Psalm 9:10...
I am seeking.
The story of my walk with Jesus is still unfolding. The story of how I got to where I am now is one I want to tell. I am praying for the words and my own understanding of the past, but have big plans for a pen and some paper once my story is ready to be told.