“I am not a mind-reader”
“Use your words”
How often do those phrases come out of our mouths when talking to children? How often do we feel utterly frustrated because we do not know what they want or what they are thinking? How often do we not listen to our own advice or better judgement?
If we are afraid to ask, if we are afraid to expose the vulnerable, less-than-heroic parts of ourselves, how can we imagine that we will be understood? I seem to be more than willing to share tales of exploits and clever deeds, but remain silent and remote when it comes to recounting some current experience of fear or weakness. How can I hope for aid or comfort if I camouflage and hide a need? Why do I seem to forget that almost every time I have dropped my armor and asked for help I have been aided?
The same seems to hold true even in my relationship with God. I seem to dodge and shuffle until I am truly twisting in the wind before I ‘fess up and declare just how wretched I am. I know full well what the truth is and yet I dress it up and obscure it making it quite impossible for me to accept the grace and peace that is mine for the taking…
Hold the phone, maybe I just stumbled onto something. The peace is mine for the taking. It is always there; I have to take it. And the only way to take it, is to admit that I need it. I have to use my words even if they are only in my own heart.
Sometimes my dimwittedness stuns even myself.