A Letter to Me {& Just Maybe You Too}

Dear Self,

Let’s talk.  That fear in you ain’t from your Holy Maker & Lover of your soul.  It’s from the enemy & it seeks your demise.  Letting go of control is actually safest, because trust in God – no matter what happens – is always safe & what is right & good for your life.  Fear swallows & consumes & never is satisfied.  Trust breathes life & a hope for the next second, & all the mysterious ones that follow.  Gifts are given & grace upon grace has been poured out for you.  Count em & gather em & record em & give the deep thanks that leads to fullness of life, as Ann Voskamp has written in One Thousand Gifts.  The full God life of thanks!

Keep praying for the words to say to those in your life - & then say em bold or quiet or slow, just say em & trust… even if they’re scary words like “I love you” or “please forgive me” or “let’s try again” or “here’s the truth…” “Here’s my story…”   Draw near to God & His Word & watch Him come close & closer still.  Cling to Him in this world that sways & spins – outta control much of the time.  He doesn’t change & His promises are always upheld true as gold.  So trust.  Trust.  Trust.  It is a thing of beauty to trust, a thing of surrender, & an act of the verb-love to bestow upon your heavenly Father who won’t let you go, ever, & is good & for you.  So trust, when the trustings hardest - & give deep thanks for all the ways He loves us deeper than a bottomless well.  It never runs dry & your thirst can be forever quenched.  So trust & give thanks.  

This isn’t bike-riding-knowledge.  You know the quip, “Once you know how to ride a bicycle, you never forget”?  This is the learning of a lifetime, because we are a weary, stubborn, & indisputably forgetful human race, & our race often seems long to the weary bones.  Keep remembering the good gifts worthy of insurmountable, never-enough thanks & trust & give thanks & lay yourself open to such a blessing Giver.  He is oh-so worthy of your trust, my love.

Love you!  Love yourself.

P.S.: I rambled.  Bess, do you still ramble {i.e.: ask myself this next time I read this letter hours, weeks, months, or years into the future}?  If yes, maybe God made you to ramble like an heirloom rose rambling up a gatepost.

P.P.S.: