Dear you

Dear you,

This has gone on long enough. The way that your brain is wired is not lined up with Me. I am trying to push past all these webs, like an attic that is filled with boxes and dust. You know that I am here, ready to remove the layers and layers of boxes that you have kept at your disposal. When the situation arises, you go to the box with the matching label and sift through all of its items. You are looking down at the box, so enticed with rummaging that you do not respond to my presence. I brush the webs off as I talk to you. “Put the items down”, I repeat. Pack up the box and hand it to me, I have my arms out ready to take it from you. It is dark and musty up here. Stand up and wipe the dust off so I can take you out of this cramped space. Please look at my face. Why do you continue this spinning mental torture upon yourself. Please give me the box and I will carry it down the stairs. I will take it away forever but you don’t have to be in fear that something within it will be needed later. It won’t be needed because I will replace it with something better. Trust me. I am walking down now, you can watch my back as I leave but it is not my back that you have to get used to watching. I am only taking this box, this baggage, to another place that does not hold on to the old. I will come back up here, patiently wait again for you to look up from whatever items have diverted your attention. You will look up at me again and then slowly stand up from the self-imposed task that you assigned. We will stand there together, looking at the items without ruminating as you watch me tape it closed. You will hand me this box and again watch my back as I descend down the stairs. This will continue until our attic is empty and then we will take the stairs together into a new area that is not musty, dusty, dark or full of webs. We will enter a room together that is brighter and deserving enough to be the place that provides you with life.

Let’s get to work.

Love,

God