Pieces of me scatter everywhere and I don't know what to do with them. How to look at them. How to figure out how to pick them up and put them together again, because there are so many.
So I sit and I think and I hear God whisper to me promises that seem so far away. Promises about my future which is always too far ahead of my present. Promises from my past that always seem so far behind from my present. Because all I have is now. So I whisper back to God: "Where do I go from here?"
Sometimes I don't get a response, and sometimes I do.
But either way it shouldn't matter, because God is who He is no matter who I am. And what He says is permanent, so I have to learn to hold on to the promises and let go of my own dreams.
Does that mean that my dreams don't matter?
But it does mean that His dreams are probably better than mine, and He probably knows what He's doing.
So I cling.
"...and you will be called Sought After, the City No Longer Deserted."