Open blind eyes.

Conversations lately with friends have been challenging, and revealing.

Jesus.

Why do you seem so distant, so far, so detached from here. Why can I not hear or feel or sense your nearness that they always profess? Right now I confess my unbelief. My struggle to receive you as you are. You’re reality seems imaginary and as I query I’m left wondering if you’re even real. Call me a heretic, fallen away, but in the rawness of my heart, I don’t know if I can say you are who you said you are. Call me Thomas, but even he could see and feel your scars.

I want so badly to believe holistically, but something within me won’t let me see your Truth as reality. I don’t know what else I’d need to know, what more you could show to convince me. Maybe I’m just afraid of a peace, a ceasing of the tension I’ve called home for so long. If that struggle is gone, I won’t have a crutch to lean on. Without a crutch to lean on, I wouldn’t have much, nay nothing, to stand on if your claim to truth is wrong.
And that means I must trust something outside myself and that takes faith, which I haven’t felt I’ve had much of. But even so, I’m crying out. Open these blind eyes to see the reality of your being.

Jesus. I long to feel your nearness. To know your gentle touch of love as you hold me in your arms. To hear your strong voice and follow in your footprints. But that’s just it. I don’t feel that. I can’t see that. I don’t hear you. And I’m at a loss for what to do. Maybe the Truth I’m expecting is not the same as what is really true.

Jesus, I need you. Give me the grace to receive you. As you truly are.