Dear Abba,
For many years I was afraid to talk to you. I hid my pain, the shame of my sin, the confusion of my mind, and the ache of my heart. I thought it was buried and it was . . . but it wasn't dead. When the power of your love unearthed them, the only place I could run for comfort, for rescue was to you. Thank you. Your grace, Your peace, your joy. Lord, you washed me, inside and out. Abba, it was such a painful process - - still is. I feel like I've been scrubbed on an old-fashioned washboard: pulled and pushed across the bumps and grids then wound through the wringer. Sometimes it feels like I was beaten with a stick, laid out upon a rock, or put to hang from a tree. Each time I recalled a painful experience, suffered through a flashback, or relived a torturous memory, I ran to you. How long have you been waiting for me to talk to you . . . to be able to reason with me? How much sooner could I have been relieved of this burden had I just sought to communicate with you? Oh, but now, Abba, the freedom you give allows me direct access to you. I run to you, I cry on your lap, I express my pain, my fear, my everything. You pat my head, you rub my back, you hold my hand and you say, "Come, now."
I'm here, Lord.
Isaiah 1:18 "Come now, and let us reason together," says the Lord. "Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool." KJV
