Sundays bother me.

Maybe I'm a allergic to Sundays. But here's the weekly thing that I write up that will get me mostly likely nowhere.

I see inconsistencies. Gaps that bother me. I can't escape them. I can't leave them. Maybe they can be fixed. Changed. Maybe I can have a small influence in that direction. Though I don't know what that means in any entirety. I'm uncomfortable with how things are. Yet I'm thankful because I'd rather struggle every single week than choose the bliss ignorance gives.

I'm in a place of molding. And I hope we all are. I hope we can all have a little humility. (sigh) I'm so broken. I do know what to do with what I see, but the sight is yet to change. O how I long. Yearning but just... nothing. Tears, hidden. I feel so pseudo-real in this longing for this authenticity.

I struggle because I know Truth, and I'm challenged. It challenges me. I'm faced with this insurmountable challenge that I can't deal with on my own. But I can't let it be the death of me. Never. Because it's Truth, and my life clings to it. I want to live and see something great, see joy overflowing.

So for now I'll count the little things as grace, because that's exactly what they are. One more breath. One more happening to give hope. Hoping. A risk of it's own.

God, give me the grace to have faith and to move. Words to speak, and a time to speak them. People with whom I can speak and trust. Someone who shares this vision. Peace, never to excuse apathy, but know that You're timing is good and perfect. Help me to learn to wait on You, and to know You. Thank You.