I write to you this morning with a raw heart. Raw emotions. It seems I can’t look at a stranger without crying.

I walked out of church on Sunday and I felt something, but I couldn’t put my finger on. Now I realize what it was. I’m falling more in love with you than I knew I could be. I tried to talk about your love for me last night, but I couldn’t do so without crying, again. That’s a good place to be, I guess.

Then there are these other tears, this other rawness in my heart. It’s sadness. My heart breaks for the world around me and I can’t fix it. I asked you last year to break my heart with the things that break yours, and some days, honestly, I wish I wouldn’t have asked that.
My heart breaks for the addiction that destroys lives around me.
I’m saddened as I watch friends suffer through heartbreak.
I grieve knowing every two seconds someone is dying, and that next, that someone may be the grandmother whom I so desperately want to know you.
Then I cry again – tears of joy. Tears of humility, knowing that you love me. Knowing that you desire to be my Father. Humbled by your forgiveness. I fall in love with you again.
Break the hearts of those I write to you about. Draw them near to you. Don’t let them leave this world without getting on their knees and crying out to you.
Protect the hearts of those I write to you about. Guard their minds and wrap your arms around them. Let no words come against them.
I ask you today, Father, to show me where my life is entangled. Show me where your light needs to shine brighter. Though I hesitate to ask, continue to break my heart with the things that break yours.
May my tears continue to flow until everyone I know has cried out to you. May my tears continue to run down my cheeks and your light shine in my eyes as you introduce me to strangers who need to know about you.
I don’t want my focus to be on me Father, but on you. Show me the next step. Show me the next race to run. May I stop pacing in this race of Christianity and keep running.
My desire is to cross the finish line and hear from you, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”
I. Will. Keep. Running.

– Your Daughter, Sundi Jo