A Love Poured Out.... for me.
I haven't been writing because I'm scared of what I'll say. There is no taste more sour than the words of someone who has let grief and pain make them bitter and I, for one, would never write another word if I thought that was who I was becoming. It is hard to be your own judge. We are our own harshest critic. If what I thought of myself was true I would kill myself off to spare the rest of the world from my existence. I'm not being dramatic to make a point, I am serious. I've been so silent and so afraid that I'm not grieving well or in a healthy way. I haven't been able to put words to what I go through. At least not accurate ones. Talking to God is hard because I have nothing to say to Him. My soul feels so naked and exposed and raw and torn and bleeding. I feel like the wounded man on the side of the road, and all the upstanding, God-fearing people go rushing past. I don't say this to shame anyone or make anyone feel bad. I speak of generalities, no...