Today, I am three weeks old.
It was a rough week. I made some mistakes. Some things happened that upset me, a lot.
I cried, and my Daddy heard me. Jesus came to stay with me, and he said that if I trusted him, he would fix it all. I might not understand how he would fix it in this world, but I trust that he does what he says he’ll do.
And things got better.
I’m still hungry, and my Father still feeds me. He’s very particular about what I eat, though, and when. I listen to what He says. He knows best.
I like to sleep, but I don’t like to go to bed early. No, I like to stay up…but wow, I get tired. I’d much rather curl up in Daddy’s lap or on his shoulder and nap there, but he’s smart. He knows if i go down, I’m not getting up for at least four hours, and so it’s time for bed, proper. He knows me.
He likes it when I listen to him. I want to say that me figuring him out is my little secret, but I know better. I’ll pretend it is anyway.
Jesus and I still go for walks, and I can tell he’s there. We don’t always talk about theology or stuff like that. We just walk. I laugh at his sandals, he laughs at my pink hiking shoes, and he talks about how much where I live reminds him of where he grew up.
My Father is working on how I get frustrated and angry. He’s changing the way I behave, in a good way.
I’m beginning to see the purpose of confession. It still scares me, and I’m not ready to go yet, psychologically. But I will. I’ve talked to Daddy about what I’ve done and how I’m sorry for it. When I talk to him about what I did wrong, or how I messed up, he doesn’t get mad. But he works on it with me when I open up to him and admit that I need help on something. It still just…kind of bugs me. I’m ashamed to admit what I’ve done wrong, sometimes without even thinking. Just…mistakes.
But I’m still okay. He still loves me. He knows I’m trying, really hard. I really do try.
Whatever you’re doing to my heart, Lord, don’t stop it. It’s working. I can feel You working.