Inner Thoughts

There's something immensely scary about the unknown. We want to know who we are, where we belong, and what we should do. Currently my brain has been scrambled, and I'm constantly thinking about what I should be doing with my life. More than anything, I want to live a life that brings glory and honor to God. I want to be a light and a witness, and I want to turn the world upside down to be right side up. I've just really been asking the Lord what He would have me to do. I can't help but wonder if maybe I'm in the wrong major....I don't know, just these whirling thoughts that have been going on for days. Here's some of the scattered things I've written this week. They're a glimpse inside my constant flow of thought.

I don't know how many times I've said this, but I'm a different person when I write. The words make sense. They flow. They rise, they fall, they stare at me in black and white. I can go back and correct things, rearrange the fragment thoughts into complete sentences. It's not easy to do such things mid-conversation. I just want to talk the way I write. I want someone to know I have these words inside of me, and that I'm not silent because I have nothing to say, but I'm silent because I'm brimming with words. Words that want to be spoken, to have life breathed into them. They want to dance across the air in such a way that leaves breathtaking images to the listeners imagination. People don't talk like that anymore. I wish they did, oh, how I wish they did. Is it stupid though? These thoughts of mine? I feel like people are always attracted to the outspoken girls, who have no problem speaking their mind. I want to speak my mind sometimes, but I reign my tongue back in. I have nothing interesting to say. I tell myself. Nothing that they would care to hear. It's not important anyway.

I'm afraid of someone wanting to get to know me; wanting to see what lies inside. I'm afraid they'll be disappointed by what they will find. I'm afraid of opening myself up that far, and letting them see the darkness in my heart.

Maybe I'm doing it all wrong. Instead of writing I should be designing. But I design with my words, I, I don't know if I can design with art. Am I a failure? I'm not who I wish to be. I feel like a shell, and the real me is still hiding somewhere inside, afraid to step out into the light. It's been almost twenty years. Is is too late to change? My heart hasn't stopped racing since who knows when, my thoughts are all a tangled mess. I ache somewhere deep inside, a place where I can't reach. Lord, what would You have me do?