The fix.

God still talks to me even when I slam the door in His face.

That’s probably why He’s God and I’m not.

I shut down. I like the way the slam sounds. I’ve done it to Him and to countless others.

It feels like trimming the fat. Dotting the “i.” Fixing the problem.

In reality, it’s like living on the tip of a peninsula and sawing at the earth hoping to watch the world float away.

But then you realize you’re the one stuck alone in the middle of the ocean.

So today, I got loud.

I asked why. I prayed.

I listened.

I heard what He said, and now I can hear Him fixing my heart.

I can hear Him opening the door.

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