“Dear God …”
It starts so pure. My intentions are genuine. I start so eager to submit to what He has for me.
I want to know what He has for me; where He is taking me in the life; what He’s up to with all these bumps I seem to be bouncing along.
I start to think about some of the bumps that seem to be piling up, and all of the sudden, all the bumps have formed into a mountain. The mountain is rocky — insurmountable. I stare at it awhile, dwelling on how ill-equipped I am to climb it. How will I ever make something of all this?
I think I’m praying, but though I start with “Dear God,” I’m not praying.
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