*Forgive me for this post title, I’ve watched Rudolph way too many times this season.

Sometimes I sit down and write a post so intense that I can’t even force myself to go back and read it.

Sometimes I sit down and write a post so personal, there’s no way in hell I’ll ever actually post it.

Sometimes I sit down and and start writing, but never finish the post.

Because the words are coming, but they don’t make sense.

Because the things I’m saying wouldn’t make sense to you.

Because it’s the kind of stuff that I think about and struggle with and I’m just not ready to share, may never be ready to share.

Because it’s stuff so heavy and loaded that I don’t want to risk the fact that I might alienate someone, or piss someone off.

Because…well, just because.

And then…when I go back and re-read that post, I realize something.

It wasn’t meant for you to read anyway.

It was a prayer.

Thank you, God, for leading me to this space.
This space that is mine-quiet, still, a refuge.
This space that allows me to talk to you in the way I know best: writing.
A place where I can type, and you can listen.
A place where I can come to laugh, to cry, to struggle, to celebrate.
Thank you, God, for giving me the wisdom to know which ones to put out there for others to read and which ones to keep to myself; our secret conversations, our inside jokes.
Thank you, God, for not condemning me for my thoughts, for not judging me, for not doing anything else but listen.
God, I know you’re there…
But I need to hear you

(P.S. God? In case you aren’t top techno-savvy, there’s a place to comment right down there. ↓ See it? I’m still waiting on my 21st century Damascus Road experience.)

(P.P.S. Folks? I’m not being sacrilegious, so no mean stuff in the comments, m’kay?)