The Honda tent
There’s nothing but road noise and the occasional sound of my own thoughts. “Occasional” because in reality, I’m trying not to think. The clouds are super low– so low that my windshield is getting wet from the mist, and it feels like I’m in a tent with a low ceiling. Suddenly I am aware that I am not alone.
You want to talk about it?
Which is true. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to think, I don’t want to talk. But then I do it anyway, because I realize that He’s the only One who even realizes that I need to talk, the only One who dares approach me and ask me, and the only One who can really hear my heart.
He’s the only One I really trust all the time, with anything. With me.
I spent the day gritting my teeth and telling Him good things, choosing praise, choosing worship. If sheer will and determination counts for anything, then I can say that I did the best I could and I stood. I didn’t back down, and no rocks will be doing my job.
But He doesn’t leave me there. He wants to hear me. Even the parts that are sad or disappointed or frustrated, the parts I don’t like and don’t want to talk about. He doesn’t judge them or scold me. He doesn’t leave me because I’m messing up this, that, and the other thing. And I am reminded that He likes my humanity a lot more than I do. He’s not put off that I don’t always navigate it well.
And this is the kind of grace that slays me.