Worry and frustration have been overpowering my ability to genuinely feel happy the past week or so. I could blame it on hormones but that's just that. Blaming it.
My mother in law pointed me in the direction of James. You know, James in the bible.
I headed to bed last night as Mr. Broome was and we ended up reading together. I read aloud as always and struck a verse that made my heart well up in my throat.
"If you don't know what you are doing, pray to the Father, He loves to help. You'll get his help, and won't be condescended to when you ask for it. Ask boldly, believingly, without a second thought. People who "worry their prayers" are like wind-whipped waves. Don't think you're going to get anything from the Master that way, adrift at sea, keeping all your options wide open."
And then I cried. I've been so easy to tear up lately you would think Andy would be used to it, but he still looked so confused. I guess I have spontaneously teared up so much that he doesn't know to expect it.
All I could think is that I do not ask the Lord for much because I have a hard time believing He will do anything short of miraculous for me. I have no idea why I have this approach to God because He has always been the great provider and my blessings are endless.
So I've been thinking about it. The Lord wants to help me, but He wants to be my only option for help.
And that makes sense.
It is the only thing that makes sense.