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Writer's pictureDanie Waddell-Cranford

start again

Updated: Oct 24, 2021

The moon looked just perfect over the fading sunset behind campus’ skyline, the breeze blowing gently on my face. Cool but not cold, warm but not hot. It was just one of those moments - God is here.

Not the night I write about here, but another beautiful one on another campus I love.

On the drive there, I listened to a sermon given by one of my favorite women on the planet. She told about her talks with God in the car, the moments when she is most honest with herself and with Him about the world crashing around her. I hit pause and let out a sigh.


“I don’t think You listen to me.”


I didn’t even realize I believed it.


Earlier that week, I’d listened to a podcaster (another woman I love) talk about her realization that God actually listens to our prayers, and I thought, How silly, of course He listens. My mind didn’t realize what my heart was silently believing.


As I drove to campus, slightly less late than usual, I told God about my frustrations and fears and uncertainties, even though I didn’t feel like He was listening or had a response to offer. But He did.


I don’t think that’s always true; I believe firmly that God wants us to desire Him more than we desire answered prayers. I want to want that. I want to want His presence more than His answers, but that isn’t always true for me.


But, this time at least, He answered me.


He’s always gentle with me - polar opposite of my own disposition. I am loud and over-the-top and bouncy. I move from one thing to another and make a lot of noise along my way.


When God speaks to me, it feels like a gentle, cool-but-not cold, warm-but-not-hot breeze in my spirit. It stops me in my tracks and makes my lips touch one another. It makes my ears open wide and my hands open wider.


Start writing.


I don’t know when I stopped. I’m not even sure I completely realized that I had; it just happened. But God and I find each other here, my hands perched on the keyboard and my mind focused on the words flowing from Him. I get to speak to Him, sure, but He speaks to me. Through me.


I look back at what I’ve written and learn things I didn’t know. Not so much in a prophetic way, but I learn things I didn’t know I believed, things I didn’t know I knew about Him. So prophetic in a way, I suppose.


When I feel overwhelmed and unsure and on the brink of fleeing from feeling, He leads me to Himself with the perfect breeze, the perfect crescent moon, and the shared love for words that He’s gifted me. I hope to find Him here more often and feel that breeze more frequently.

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