the Word in the night.

The sound of the rain is so soothing.

Some nights, I would sleep with my arms wrapped around my Bible. Curled up, clutching this book, blue leather, with silvered edges, too tired to pray even. I didn't believe the stories. If you had asked me if I was a follower of God or Christ, I might have said, charitably, that I didn't think we could really know for sure, but yeah, maybe. Maybe I was.

And yet. I sensed the power. I wasn't raised with the Bible--it's not as though it was some cherished item from my childhood. I've never been wildly enthusiastic about divine inspiration. I've read large chunks of it, more for intellectual sport, than guidance. But when I was scared for everything, when I felt danger to my very being, I reached for it. Granted, I didn't open it. Just held on it, held it close, clinging to it. It was as though I was saying to God, "I don't have the strength to reach for you, but this book, this concrete object, this solidity, this is all I can do for now."

I was talking with someone yesterday about how I had made it through some things I probably shouldn't have without God, and so it's hard for me to turn over control to Him. I can always trust me. She asked me how I knew that God hadn't been the one to get me through.

Earlier, I was praying to God. I can scarce believe I'm writing this, and I might still remove it tomorrow, but I found myself praying for Him to want me. Do you ever surprise yourself in prayer? I had stopped consciously putting forth the "dutiful prayers" and laundry lists of all that is going on, and suddenly found my heart speaking on its own. And that's what it said. "Father, show me that you want me. Please, I need to know that you want me as yours. I want to give everything, but I need to know Your love."

I don't know what kind of evidence that God might put forth to me.

I imagine that sometimes, the evidence is a hand reaching out in the middle of the night, grasping a Word against all odds.