[when there are no titles, I just write]

I've been rather distant lately. Distant in the blog sphere, distant in friendships, and distant with myself. Several days ago I realized that I've hardly journaled at all for the past three weeks. This is a bad sign for me. It usually means that I'm dealing with things too deep for comfort. My default defense mechanism is to emotionally retreat, as if ignoring the issue dissolves it, denies its existence.

So I forced myself to write.

I doodled and drew. I bought new pens. I colored in black & white sketches. I wrote six pages in one sitting to catch myself up with what my insides were feeling. And I began to feel those insides again.

What was locked came unhinged, and it seemed too much to bear.

I realized how much I'm fighting against gifts from God's hand. Gifts that would taste good if I choose to acknowledge them as good. Gifts that are answers to prayers, though not in the desired form. Gifts that come from a Lover, not a Dictator. Gifts that are smaller parts of a larger Gift— knowing my Lord.

I have quoted this many times before, but I hold fast to the words, "It is a good day to me when Thou givest me a glimpse of myself." I consider every weakness, every stumble, every moment of lonliness or want an opportunity to find satisfaction in Jesus Christ, and in that fulfillment, the struggle or weakness becomes a gift, because it draws my heart closer to my Lord.

Yes— I'm dealing with intense emotions on so many different levels and in so many categories that it exhausts me to think about it. I can't handle it all. I'm simply incapable. But Jesus can and will.

So I trust Him, and I thank Him for His gifts.