Lord, I’m sorry that when we’re together I put pressure on You to fix me, to give me some transfusion or infusion, or end my confusion.

Maybe I could enjoy You instead of holding You at arms length until You make sense to me.

Maybe it’s ok to be sad and confused about pain and suffering, and to have unsettling “nots”— I do not:
know what to tell my kids about You
feel like I need to “save” people
have a church family or a ministry right now.

Perhaps dropping expectations would make way for curiosity.

What was Your resurrection like? Did the angel who came to Your tomb gently shake your shoulder and say, “It’s time to wake up, Jesus”? When did Your wounds become scars and not gaping holes? When You awoke were Your feet still calloused from walking? Did Your beard still have blood in it?

Maybe letting go of what I thought was important will make way for what is holy, for compassion—a sacred way to approach myself, other people, and the world around me.

What is compassion? Entering into the suffering of another.

Could I have compassion for You, Lord? That feels wrong somehow.

Why would I have compassion for a God who has everything? Oh, but You don’t have everything. You don’t have all Your children. Do You feel just a wee bit empty? Do You suffer?

Curiosity and compassion are roomy.

You are roomy.

Thank You for giving me room—permission to:
enjoy Your company
be sad and confused
ask questions
try on curiosity and compassion.

Truth be told, I don’t need to be fixed as much as I need to be loved. Thank You for always refusing to prioritize my behavior over me, and for enjoying me instead of fixing me.

Photo by Rodolfo Clix: https://www.pexels.com/photo/close-up-photograph-of-person-praying-in-front-lined-candles-1024900/