Coming to you under a white flag

Dear Friend

Maybe I'm the only one who can write you this letter. Let's be honest. They've all given up on you. You've given up on all of them. Everyone has moved on, as you say. But I'm not sure about that. And so I'll take a chance, and expend some words and some time. They're not mine to lose, after all.

I'm not here to question your choices. Or your actions. Or your words. They're distinctly yours. Yes. I've heard some of the stories. But they aren't my story. And because I know my story, the one thing I'm sure of is that I don't have the authority to hold court on your story. I'll gladly listen to your truths. I know that everyone might not. Be aware I might not instantly believe them, but that doesn't mean I'm judging them. I can promise you I will listen, and you will be heard.

With all honesty, there is one question I will ask. And when I ask you, know that I spent a long time asking myself this question before I asked it of anyone else. This Jesus that you spoke about so eloquently once-- what about Him/ Where does he figure into the mess you're in now? Yes, I do know, because I learned the hard way. So don't be surprised when I rip off the trite bumper sticker platitudes. Don't be shocked when I won't accept the hand-crafted justifications. Know that I'm here. I will answer if you call. You are still loved, even though you are one hot mess.

thus spake,

me