FanStory.com - The Errant Childby Claire Tennant

Dear Lord
As I write, I imagine you reading this and thinking.
"I know your heart, my child,"
Patiently, You, like an earthly father listening, or in this case, are reading my woes.
Lord, my heart is heavy despite the fact that you know me better than I know myself. Even now, you reach down to comfort and console me, knowing that my reluctance to accept is because I have not let go of guilt or worry.

I give to You my concerns because you, and you only, can fix the mess this world is in. Your word says that 'there will always be wars and rumours of war.' You ask us not to be 'alarmed; that such things will happen, and the end is still to come' Matt 24:6.
Please forgive me for wondering if the end is imminent, not just near.

The false prophets are here in their droves. The hatred, the angst, the lies, the conceit. There are few these days who know You or want to know You but think You don't exist because .... Who am I kidding? Sometimes, I wonder that, too, but those thoughts do not last long. Whether it is you're prompting another to teach me or something you do yourself by your grace, that feeling does not last long.

How does the ordinary person cope, Lord? For the ordinary person has their own troubles, known to you and at the right moment the answers to our prayers will come most likely in abundance. Others may be able to take this in their stride, but you know me, Lord. I panic first and think things through way down the track.
You furnish me with stories of your miracles and answers to prayers for the hungry, the poor and the needy. I think especially of the woman with the blood disorder who had the courage to touch the hem of your garment, knowing she would be well. What's wrong with my faith? How she must have felt to hear from you that her faith had made her well and to go in peace, not pieces as she was and as I am now.

Then, I am reminded of the miraculous healing you gave me. It could have so easily been a cancer diagnosis, but you touched me, turning the mass from scary to benign and removed easily. Fourteen years down the track, everything is still normal. Forgive me for my doubts and fears. Show me again how to leave things in Your nail-printed hands, Lord. You were ever the wise, patient teacher.

Thank you for the sacrifice at the cross, Lord. By this action, you defer your right to judge and love abundantly instead. You accept me as I am, but do not leave me that way. You give me hope and strength and a promise of a Heavenly home.
Well, at least the personal war in my heart recognises the need to let go and let You lead the way.
One more thing: I love you
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