Dear Lord,
Another month has passed and with it goes the last remnants of winter.
Parts of me that have died and don't seem strong enough to sprout back to life.
I do not understand much of this life. Collective human existence nor individual. Though I understand You have made us each to know You.
Yet, as the (for lack of better word) dumb and curious ants crawl around me, so too do we humans crawl around the earth, distracted by all there is to take in.
I know I'm distracted now, Lord. The woman You are making is still a girl in so many ways. No matter how collected I strive to be. Spiritually I've felt collected, but physically and mentally, not so much. I must grow in healthy, mature self-control, lest I, like the ant, crawl into enemy territory, risking being squashed by unforgiving hands.
If serenity means sitting in the woods with You, might this be my forever.
The prospective year before me -- the prospective life before me -- seems nothing as I'd imagined. I suppose because I never really did imagine. Now I just want to do what You want me to do, which I'm finding requires me to a) dream and b) pursue those dreams.
I suppose it's time to go through my notes again.
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