Stirring

God is stirring within me. I won’t mask him, I won’t call him something else. Because when I invited him into my life, he came in. And now he is stirring. He lives inside, so when he breathes, I breathe. Sometimes I breathe differently because I forget to let him live. What a tragedy.
God died voluntarily to give us life—his life. If we think we are living when he is not, we are wrong. Dead wrong. So either we are dead or alive.
When God stirs, I must allow it. I must let him come all the way through, for only then will my life have any meaning or make any positive difference.
I am waiting. I am letting him grab a hold of my heart and make it beat again. It beats with beauty, it beats with pain, but it only beats when his touch lingers or his fingers work the blood through it.
Sometimes I think God cries, and usually we are not aware. I think he cries when we forget about him, or when we push him away because we believe we are not good enough for his love, or we don’t feel good about ourselves. I think he cries when we are insecure. I mean, how painful would it be if, with all your heart you desire to love someone, even to the point of being willing to die for them, and they don’t know it, or they forgot about your immense love, or they reject you out of their own pain. Where will your love go? You will still love, but that love will not find its proper home.
I want to let God make my heart beat. I am weak. I sin. I am selfish and I make multiple mistakes per day. But God does not change. If I don’t let him love me, I hinder the change I want to see in me and others.
I want to let God’s tears move me. I want to cry with him for those who have not yet seen, who have not yet known the intensity of his love.
Stir, God. Stir within—awaken me. Because if I want to truly live, you must come out. Thank you for your love. I commit to knowing it better, to seeking it out day by day as one starving.
I want to be like you.