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It’s been awhile since I prayed.
I mean, okay, I pray nearly every day. Small pleas to God to make my train start moving again on the way to work, to grant me patience with the slow walkers in front of me on the sidewalk, to make it snow.
But I hardly talk to God anymore. It used to be something I did all the time. I used to have whole conversations with Him as I drove around town back home, or as I walked to class, as I straightened my hair. I don’t remember when I stopped, and I can’t tell you why, because I miss it. I miss God.
…Which is sort of silly, because I know He’s there. I know He’s waiting, watching, arms outstretched, ready to welcome me, ready to take me back, to listen to me and let me revel in the joy of His love.
I just don’t understand why I’m not running back to Him, why I’m not falling all over myself to get back to Him in any way that I can. When did I become content with this disconnectedness?
