I was having some inspiration so I thought I would just start writing and see what came out. Here is the end result. Hope this helps you, it did me.
He shivered. Her harsh
words ate at his soul. She was right, but his stubbornness hardened his heart
and he chewed her out. She left a note but not before she shyly came over to
him and pecked his cheek with her rosy lips, her heels lifting from the floor.
The door slowly closed. He sighed, hating himself for hurting the one person he
loved the most. Well, he thought he loved her. He also imagined she loved him,
though that part was still a mystery that the kiss just made fuzzier. Picking
his cat up and setting it on the floor, he sank into his recliner and glanced
at the note perfectly placed two feet from him on the antique side table. He didn't want to, but he found himself reaching for it. Maybe it was the note
itself, or the fact that it had whiffs of her subtle flowery perfume escaping
from college-ruled notebook paper. He opened it and studied her handwriting. It
was petite, like she was, but in places it seemed as though the swirly font
would burst through the delicate paper. There were swirls and stars scattered
in the margins which made him smile, she
always doodles when she’s stressed. Not wanting to, but at the same time
longing to hear from her, he started to read:
Josh,
I know you probably don’t want to hear from me, so I won’t write to you. I’ll
address this to someone else. Sorry if that’s rude.
Dear
God,
Thank
you for this day that you have given. Though the rain can be unbearable I know
that without it all the plants would wither and die. And that would be sad.
Help
Josh. He has been…stressed lately. He doesn't get why he can’t feel You. I try
to explain that it isn't always about feelings, but he knows how much I rely on
feelings too, so that doesn't help much. His schooling has been difficult and
the professors are hard on him. He has so much potential he just doesn't see
it. He doesn't see himself improving or changing. He thinks he’s nothing. To me
he is something. And to You he is something (I think you count there more than
I do).
Help
me too. I try to be a good influence on him, but I’m hurting. We all have our
struggles and it’s hard to help others with their problems when you are
drowning in your own. Maybe if I help him with him, he can help me with mine…
Thank
you that You never leave. He thinks that You aren't there and that You aren't working in His life, but I can see the change. He doesn't see himself in a
different light, but I can see he has grown in You. You are working and You do
care, sometimes we just have to get at our lowest point before we look up. Help
him to look up. And help us to learn to look up before we get to our lowest point.
Well,
I guess I’m just kind of rambling. But thanks that even though we don’t
understand what You are doing, You are always working. Give us patience and bring
us to our knees, daily.
Cassidy.
He lifted his eyes from
the page. It always amazed him what words on a ratty sheet of notebook paper
could do. Maybe it was the power behind the words themselves, or the fact that she wrote them, or maybe because it wasn't addressed to him but to God Himself. He shivered again. Taking her
advice, he slowly slipped to his knees and at 11 o’clock at night he talked with
God. The cat meowed and rubbed against his legs, as if it knew he needed
someone by his side.
Until next time, Sarah
