yesterday i said all of those things to myself. in a matter of one. single. hour.
& then i prayed. i prayed good and long (and oddly enough sitting on the bar stool in the kitchen with my hands rested on the keys of my laptop). at one point i lost all sensation of where i really was until it was time for dinner.
& then God answered my prayer, in a way that i was not too sure i expected. but then again, what was i really praying for? it was more of a mish-mosh of anger and frustration and hurt and worry that i think if there would be a direct telephone line to God i would have hung up the phone repeatedly on him. because this girl, wasn't quite sure what exactly it is that needed to be said and sometimes when we hang up the phone, God is still listening. this is the most miraculous part of prayer - you don't even need to be speaking for Him to be listening, answering, and helping.
the answer: a talk with my dad. and dads, they know a thing or two - especially my dad. and of course this sounds bias because he is my dad and anyone would feel this way about their own parent, but i mean it. this dude has been through it all. i trust him. and we don't have that "daddy's little girl relationship", probably due to the fact that i am wayyyyyy too much like him. i would never hold that against him because as i grow and experience things it is him who i feel the closest too. he knows me because he was me. and when you're the baby who grows up in tights and tutus and your older sister is playing soccer, time is divided to conquer between parents and i always got momma. but i think it makes me appreciate these moments with my father.
and that is why when he speaks, when we really get to talking, i listen my eyes are focused on him.