Some days, I find myself praying prayers and feeling like they’re hitting the ceiling and bouncing back at me.
Other days, I find myself praying prayers and ending up in the fetal position on the floor going, “Okay, okay!!” because God answered my prayers so efficiently that I didn’t have time to realize how dangerous those answers could be to my personal sense of comfort.
Today is the second day. Yesterday was, too.
During this season of Lent, I’ve committed to spending a portion of my time each day seeking out what it means to live out of faith, hope, and love. Little did I realize how much an interruption this would be to my current mental state. Because how do I go about learning how to live out of faith, hope, and love?
Clearly. By being tossed headfirst into unlimited situations in which my last instinct is to respond from places of faith, hope, and love.
God is a go-big-or-go-home kind of God, apparently.
I find myself struggling in areas I rarely struggle, feeling insecure in ways I don’t generally experience, and encountering people who rub me the wrong way in the worst possible ways. And in this moment, I am just tired. I feel like I am genuinely at the end of my rope.
Which is usually where He does His best work.
Coincidence? Don’t believe in it.