My daughter, there are things you know are true—things you can’t see, things you can’t touch. You read my words in pages held together, all stacked, one by one. You read the stories of my presence in my children’s lives. You read about my promises. You see the words upon the page, listen to the sound of them expressed aloud. But what do they mean to you? Am I a God you see around you? Do you breathe Me in, this day? 

Daughter, my Spirit whispers, and some hear more clearly than others. Some want to hear it . . .  and do . . . but mistake my words for something else. There is a gift I give: to know, with certainty, my words pressed upon a daughter’s heart. And there are some daughters who, of course, could hear, because they know Me. But so many obstacles stay stacked in the way of discerning Me clearly.

You want to know what it looks like to pray to Me? To be with Me? To listen to Me? You are full of questions . . . when you pause . . . when you ponder your heart. Questions about Me, about how to live this day, about how to have more joy and freedom.

Oh, darling, I know you want to touch Me—to reach out your hands and feel Me tangibly. Might I feel more real, then? Might I be more easily recognized?

Look again.

Look again.

Where is your restless heart? To what does it turn, if not to Me?

My daughter, look now. Look at Me. Raise your head again.

I come for you.

What do you want to ask Me? Can I tell you the desire of your heart? I know you tire of staying in the same place. I know you are tired of looking at this world—but oh, how I love it. 

Can I tell you how much I love this world?

My daughter, you have not lost your way. You have not missed out on a talent. You have not been short-changed on intelligence, on beauty, on personality, on gifts. You are not supposed to be more coordinated, more funny, more organized, more entertaining. You are not supposed to talk more, lead more, run more, do more. 

You are not failing. You are not falling. You are not disappointing . . . Not when you are resting in Me. Not when you are looking to Me for your worth. Not when you are stopping to listen . . . and listening often enough so you recognize the sound of my voice.

My darling, I am not in the fear. I am in a new place, a separate place outside of it. 

Step away, with Me.

There is refreshment here. A new place to stand. There is room to move, to breathe, to spread your arms wide, hands open, fingers stretched, head relaxed.

I have work for you to do with Me, yes. We will go, and I will push you to lean on Me and trust Me and do things uncomfortable for you to do alone. 

But you don’t go alone, my dear.

Daughter, where do you run? How do you doubt? What do you see when you look for Me?

Oh, girl, it’s not silence. No, it’s not empty space. No, it’s not memory failing. No, you don’t need to be smarter, quicker, a better listener. Maybe, you could be more you?

Please don’t run away from the girl I’ve made, hand-stamped with beauty, with talent, with a way to see Me and hear Me unlike anyone else.

Lean back, now. I’ve got you. I circle my arms around you. I know what this day holds. A few twists and turns. A disappointment. A moment of beauty. A caress of your heart. (Yes, that’s Me.) I hold your heart.

Do you want your love for Me to grow? Do you want to live fearlessly, completely, surrounded by Me, with Me? Can you go ahead into new territory knowing you are not alone? Can your feet find the steps, your lungs the fresh air, your heart the pace I set? 

I am with you. 

My girl, deep breath now. First of all, let Me tell you something: you don’t have to have this life all figured out to live it well. You can keep going, one day at a time, looking for Me, not looking for Me. Your actions show Me what you love. I know your heart already. And your actions can move your heart to respond to Me in ways you can’t, at the time, see.

Into the darkness where I am not afraid to go, I will come. I will find you. You think you do the things you do in secret, that no one notices or cares. But I see you and am with you. I do not depart. I do not leave your side. 

With Me with you, always with you, how do you worship Me? How do you choose to see Me, recognize Me, adjust the eyes of your heart to know where I am, with you?

My lovely one, how wonderful it is to be with you. Transitions are hard, aren’t they? Trying to keep up—one moment to the next. Going this way and that way. I know your story. I know what’s ahead. How often do you think about that—that I know what’s ahead?

This moment. Now, this moment. Oh, girl, stay.

My darling, the way you hear Me is unlike anyone else. The way I shape you, move you, wrap my arms around you. You are my dance partner. You are the one I choose. You are the one I cannot resist and to whom I come running.

I run to you.

Oh, daughter, what do you love? 

I know what it is, you know.  I know what it is you love.

There is a daughter who lifts her hands and wonders if I see her. There is a daughter who feels reckless with her heart, who is not sure if it is what she can trust. There is a girl who is afraid to call Me “Home.”

You are made to remember Me . . . and forget Me, too. I gave you a mind to think and be influenced by many things. You hear this and feel that. What you read and see and hear—the experiences you have in this world—all shape you, influence how you view the world and how you choose to live in it. 

My daughter, you return with what you have. You lay yourself down, all of you, emptied. Because here, girl, in that posture, I make you clean. 

You return to be cleansed, to be renewed. A return makes the choice to come back to a place where you were before. But to return to Me—you are not going back to the same place because I have made you new. I have turned you around. I have touched your face with my hand, my other hand on your heart. 

And girl, you are not who you were before.

Daughter, I know. I know. It is not I who whispers, “You are alone.” It is not I who whispers, “No one sees you, cares about you, loves you.” Daughter, I do not delight to see you in pain, to see you suffering. Your heart cries out, in its weariness, in its grief, and oh, child, I pick it up. 

I lift you up, child.

I am here, even when you are tired. I am here, even when you think I’m not. I am here, not dependent upon your mood or your efforts. I am separate from circumstances, but in the middle of all moments, too.

Look for Me.

Expect Me.

Desire Me.

My daughter, hear the song in your heart for Me. Hear the song of longing, of beauty, of self-forgetfulness, for the sake of joy. 

Surrender and receive more joy.

What is it you need to surrender? What is it you need to believe more deeply about Me? What is it, child?

Oh, come be rescued.

Oh, come hear the thunder in the distance, the rolling of the beat, my own heart speaking your name.

Wait in the space where I am. Wait in expectation, listening with your mind clear, alert, open to all possibilities. Wait on Me.

My voice is in you. You hear the whisper of Me in the light, when fear is surrendered and I am your strength.

You hear Me in stillness—but stillness amidst clamor, too. But I quiet clamor within you. I still the storm and whisper, “I am here, my love. Keep your eyes on Me.”

Take that deep breath now. Slowly now.