Helpless, I watch the gas gauge fall ever so slightly, so constantly as my trusty steed, a ’98 Camry, devours the 60 east. I wonder if by the time I get back home the cringe-inducing empty light will shine bright, reminding me of what I lack- a tank of gas and the funds to fill it. It reminds me of my debt, income, bills, tuition, medical bills (from this) and worry.
Dad, I give this to you. I give you the money I have- and the money I don’t. I give you my today and my tomorrow. I give you my worry, my fear, my confusion.
I feel a sort of peace settle in. But that worry- good ol’ faithful worry. It worms its way in, choking my heart, breaking my spirit in that almost unnoticeable way, so sneaky I don’t even know it til I’m immersed. It makes me believe in the problem- making it a problem.
I’m tired. I am so very weak. I don’t know anything. Except. Yeah. I’m too tired to try to believe my way out of this, to try to make myself understand that it’s not in my hands, Jesus loves me, God takes care of me, I’m more important than a sparrow (hahah), blah blah blah.
I’m just tired.
So I rest. And I sit. I enjoy the drive, the feeling of asphalt racing beneath me. Music surrounds me, it moves my body. All that good stuff. Then-
Dad, I give you my heart.
It almost makes me laugh. Hahah. Here I am, setting all these things on the altar. Trying to burn them up into a fragrant offering with my meager fire. Here I am giving him all these things…. that he gave me, things that are already his. Ha.
Grace, you are the sacrifice. Your heart, your soul, your all is everything I want. I died not so I can love you, but that you can love me. You’re mine. It’s your heart I’m after. Just come. Be worried, I will be your provider. Be scared, I will be your comfort. Be confused, I am your shepherd. Just come.