Two Pianos

I so look forward to going home, to my true home, and sitting at Your feet. This world confuses me. Everything is so beautiful, so wonderful, and yet so many things are hurt or broken. People, especially, seem to be full of things that I cannot understand. They hurt, they ache, they fall, they worry, they rant, and yet they refuse You. Why would they choose that? And yet, for all my confusion (and even occasionally, inside, superiority) don't I do the same thing? Wasn't I just writing about that today? Have I forgotten what I wrote?

I do adore shiny, dangerous objects. Most toddlers do. There's an intrinsic facination that pulls me toward what is not safe, what is not right, my doom. And, even though I love You, Father, my hope is that You'll turn Your back and let me play with what I know I should not touch. I wait for the first opportunity; staring quietly, cooly, covetously. Yes, I know knives are sharp. That, in fact, is part of the facination. There is nothing like them in all my touchable toys; they are unique and, to my mind, so very lovely.

But You love me. You know how much, how very deeply, this knife could cut me. I love You, Father. I long to obey You. How then - why then - does this hold such sway over me?

Don't let me grab this knife, Father. Keep Your eyes on me. I can stand against anything then, when I know how much You want me to. Give me strength to obey.

I want so much for this all to be over. I get so tired of fighting, of guarding my heart, of being hurt because I don't like holding shields. Will You guard my innocence? Will You guard my heart? Will You be in me? Please, Father, keep me here only as long as You're with me. I couldn't stand it without You.