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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