November 25, 2009


Like a teenager in tantrum, selfish, unwilling, I scream I don't want to! Why? You just don't understand!

And He answers simply, Because I know best. I can see things you can't see. Because I love you.

Yet I storm off...prideful, hurt, ignoring, certain I can make my own decisions.

So I wallow...flounder...squander.

But He comes for me and knocks, again, on my door. Child, I am always here.

Still I wallow...flounder...squander...starve.

Then I turn towards home and look again for the bread of life.

Grace, Father running to me long before I'm at his feet begging forgiveness.

Grace, Father feeding me what I have not earned.

And I rest...trusting...grateful...fed.

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