Hope II... INCOMPLETE

Dear God,

The time of my life is no longer summer but fall. Like the willow tree of which role I once assumed, I notice the leaves turning a new shade. Unlike the usual association with fall, I do not see this season as a time of drearines, but rather, a shedding of my past. During my isolation, I had time to review all of the trials I dealt with over time. I know you are both omnipotent and all-knowing, but confessing my anguish will reconcile the bond that we once had...

My thought has no direction because the more I write, the more I notice my fingers are led by the direction of my heart and soul rather than my mind. I recalled a time in my adolescenthood looking at the trees and questioning my mother of how they came to be. She told me that God, and omnipotent figure had created it in a matter of seven days. We spent that day reading the Bible and quoting verses. The joy that I saw in her eyes knowing that her daughter was coming closer to the Alpha was so comforting. I was so curious and I felt the reality of You, but the term forever never made much sense.

Decades later, I am ashamed that the childish sympathies that once protected me from a hell-bound state are excuses that I use in spite of everything. Some refer to this time in my life as a "midlife crisis", but I feel that instead this is a continous introverted battle.

I picture myself in my mother's kitchen. We are standing by the island preparing dinner. I admire the comfort she has as she