When I come home from a hectic, loud day of teaching all evening,
I let my iPod play on shuffle,
hoping God sends whatever song I need that night
as a conversation with my soul.
I like to think music is His way of talking to me.

Looking up at the previous sentence,
it occurs to me how stupid that sounds,
but I do it anyway.

Sometimes,
God doesn’t talk.

Sometimes,
I don’t listen.

Sometimes,
I’m overcome with the strangest sense that He is telling me
I am exactly where He needs me,
difficult as that may be at times,
and the steadfast anticipation I have in my picture of the future
couldn’t possibly compare to the painting
He is gracefully and meticulously creating for me.