Questions

I have questions, millions of them.  I was born with them.  I'm not afraid to ask them anymore.  Where is my authenticity, courage, solid ground if I am only willing to live someone else's answers to their questions? I want the answers that live for me.  I want the answers that I've chased after, wrestled with, agonized over and found to be true in my deepest being.  Call me weird.  Call me exhausting.  Call me silly for reinventing the wheel in every issue and doctrine in my life.  But in the end, when we talk, you will know that the things I speak of are living in me.  The things I am sure of, I am experientially sure of, not just intellectually adhering to them because my preferred groupies are also adhering to them.

"Why?" is the most beneficial question in my world.  Why do I feel this way? Why do I do it like this?  Why do I have to be that? Why do I say I believe that?  It takes me to answers.  When I speak my questions, God answers if I listen.  It may take hours, days, months, sometimes years but he will reveal the answers from a million different sources if I'm not scared to be undone.  So many times I have not wanted to ask the questions because I was scared the answers may not come back the way I needed them to in order to keep my world from unraveling.  But now, I'm not afraid of pulling on the string to see if, in fact, it can unravel a bit of the tapestry. If the confidence I feel is based on illusion or presumption or intellect in the first place and not on what is actually real, then undo me to be redone!

Once again, I'm being undone.