Finding Momentum

I am in the Berke­ley prayer house in the “wait­ing room” and I am scrib­bling down pent-up thoughts that flow to me at an alarm­ing pace. I write 20 bul­let points and aim them upward in a  “Dear John” let­ter. (Please skip the rest if emo writ­ing makes you queasy).

“…
6. Jesus for­give me for believ­ing lies that my sin is impos­si­ble to over­come. That I can never have vic­tory, so why try? I am so defeated.
7. I AM SO FAR FROM YOU AND I AM TO BLAME (?)
8. I pray cliches. It has been so long since I’ve prayed a heart­felt prayer…
…
11. FORGIVE ME FOR THIS CYNICISM THAT IS SUFFOCATING ME.
12. God I’m afraid to say this but You don’t mean much to me any­more.

(a blank page)

13. My heart doesn’t feel any­more. I am so dry. No, more than that… what is it?
14. I feel as I’ve searched hard and ended up emp­tier than before. Jesus, I come to You with noth­ing, God. I am so tired.
15. I’m tired of run­ning the race, fight­ing the good fight. I’d like a break, God. 5 min­utes.
16. It feels wrong to (say these things & feel good say­ing them.)
17. I feel as if I’m right back where I started, God. Still bit­ter. Still empty, still dis­obe­di­ent. Just with some extra scars…”

Upstairs, they are pray­ing, singing, jump­ing, laugh­ing. “Come breathe in me, all my life, take over / Come live in me I will rise on eagle’s wings.” I fin­ish my last sen­tence and find myself breathless.