I find it rather amazing that you can walk into a room of praying people, sit down, and begin talking as if you intimately know the person beside you.

You can be raw, honest, truthful. You don’t pray so that your group hears your prayer. So that hey hear your sob story and feel sorry for you. You pray because you are having an honest conversation with your Daddy.

And that is where I reluctantly found myself tonight.

Booted out the door by Hottie Hubby is what I was.

I drove through the leaky night, reliving (once again) the U2 concert in the minute stadium of our Civic.

I wasn’t sure that I could pray . . . that I would pray . . . out loud. It requires energy. And I have none, to be honest.

And yet as I sat there, the stomach acid of my soul began to eat away at the hardness of my heart (much like my stomach juices are eating away at the lining of my digestive system currently).

Sometimes I wonder how spiritual giants can fall into serious sin. But I know. Each day that you fail to check off your Bible reading or rather earnest conversation with God, the colder your heart becomes.

When we lived in India, we experienced Monsoon season.

Literally, we lived with clouds.

Clouds in our bedroom. Clouds in our cupboards. Clouds in the kitchen. We walked through the clouds. Everything was damp. You couldn’t hide from the atmosphere that continually peed on your every movement. I remember climbing up to our loft that housed our spider filled foam mattress, and thinking that the covers would shield me from the heavy feeling that literally shrouded my body everywhere I went. But even the covers were affected by the clouds. Non potable water inhabited my existence. There was no escaping this great weather event. No amount of wind or sunshine could move the weighted clouds filled with water droplets.

Unfortunately when we left India, a part of this dampness returned with me.

I find myself experiencing monsoon season every now and then. Currently, the weather in my brain is cloudy with a chance of morning dew, followed by cascading raindrops in the afternoon. A brief intermission from this inclement climate will be experienced around 8pm, if a cuppa’ chai is had.

I share this because I am desperately watching the WeatherMan to move in my life. And I am determined to document this shifting tide in the hopes that if anyone else is experiencing a monsoon they know that they are not alone.

So God, I must admit it is a little difficult to be completely honest with You right now, knowing that relatives and friends are probably going to read this. It is easier to ralf up my emotions when it is only my Cyber-Buddies. But You want and deserve more of me. And like a Christmas tree that gets barfed on by an elf, so my blog is about to be barfed on by little ‘ol me, Jodi . . . who wants to have sunny weather with a chance of happiness.

God, will you clean up my mess? Please heal my heart, my body. Give me some energy. Restore the joy. Help me delight in my kids. And thanks that I am still giddy for the Hottie Hubby. Get me in shape for the celebration of Your Son’s birthday. Give me fresh vision for my writing. Use me. Eat away at the moldy dampness dwelling in the dark places of my soul. Let your Word be like sweet sunshine. Cure my anemia. Fortify my resolve. God, love me. I know that You do. And I thank you for it.

Join me and other across the country this week. Send in your prayer requests to Week of Prayer and Fasting.

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