I think I might have the words bottled up inside. Deep down-longing to pour forth into the lives of others. I guard them, though. I will not allow them to pour without the strong discipline of my over-analytical, self-critical mind. I keep them at an arm's length because if they start coming, they may not stop. I'm caught between my heart beckoning me forward and my mind and fear causing me to stop.
How do writers connect the two, Lord?
Is it a fool who would put her heart into the world to be stepped upon, broken, criticized?
Or, is it a fool who will not?
I've learned that being a follower means I will disregard "followers".
I've learned that You, Lord, are my audience. Those reading are special spectators, yearning to know more of who you are. Draw them in, Lord. Draw them to you. Give them ears to hear and eyes to see.
So, tonight I drink from the everlasting well, and pour forth the words from the well of my heart. I understand that my heart is deceitful, so I rely on the One who is ever faithful.
Only you Lord, are faithful and true.
May your Truth pour forth and my words be quenched. Your will, Father, not mine, be done.
