Every time we meet, I don’t care for you very much.
There. I said it.
I don’t like how you come in uninvited sometimes. Wish you’d call first.
You always bring your friends “Adjust”, “Develop”, and “Deepen” with you, too. They look good, but eat all my food.
I don’t particularly care for how you give directions. You’re a back seat driver.
I don’t like what you wear. It’s psychedelic and unattractive and just not me.
I really don’t care for you insisting I try on your shoes either. They never fit well at first.
You, Change, are an exercise in faith and you stretch me beyond what I can do alone.
You should come with a trainer. The weights of change are impossible to lift without help.
Sometimes you come in violently and reconfigure my whole world. Sometimes like minutes lost, you take away what I thought I had.
Sometimes I am watching for you to approach when I hope you have my heart’s desire in your hands.
Sometimes you come in like a surprise, like a bunch of fresh flowers, that is just what I have wanted, but I still find it difficult to receive your gift. It always means leaving something else.
And yet you are so embraceable.
When I release what I have in my hands, I am able to take hold of what you offer.
And even the things I thought were wrong or uncomfortable, I find with Heaven’s help, they come to fit like new clothes in a different style.
I must admit in looking back, you have rung my doorbell right on time to spare me from something awful or help me turn down a road less traveled.
I am pleased that you are patient with me while I adjust and yield to your presence.
All I can see is today, but the One who wrote the story and keeps inserting you into it already knows each chapter.
In trusting Him, I accept you, and like a prophetic vision, find that you keep me moving forward.
(c) Robin Lawrimore, 2011