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There is this something within me that wants to separate itself

from good and evil. It cries out not to be judged as one or the other, but to just be

this human being woman—heart, body, soul.

There is this unsettled something within me, that accepts,

the longer I live the less I grasp what God is. Neither can I settle into solitude

nor accept existence without faith.

There is this place within me that longs to be eternal and sanctified, yet knows I will never measure up and need

saving grace, and yet, in solitude, fit neither there nor here.

I read. I pray. I wait. But there follows,

silence. This darkened place that neither people nor prayer can reach. Only silence. And waiting.

I am tempted to ask, Who is there? Are You there? And wonder

is it okay that I ask?

Just don’t tell me then, that you know. They call it faith because we really don’t. Do we?

Light dawns when I say in this silence, Yes, I choose to wait. Because I know You are. There.

Aren’t You?

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