God.

You know us. You know all about us.
You make us inside and out.
You are completely aware of the things we are good at and the things we struggle with.
You are aware of the things that annoy us about ourselves.
You are aware of our insecurities and our anxieties, our adequacies and our competencies.
You are aware of what you have equipped us to be able to do, yet you don’t disown us when we don’t measure up.

In fact, you don’t actually measure. Not like we do.

You know us and are willing to watch us grow, to help us grow.
You are willing to give our willingness shape, to take our efforts and weave them into the cloth than can comfort crying babies and broken hearts.
You know us and are willing to guide us when we need wisdom, to comfort us when we know pain, to restore us when we come back from wandering.

You love us more than we can imagine.

But we confess.

We confess that we don’t believe that you love us that much.
We confess that we feel more like Onesimus the rebellious slave than like Onesimus the forgiven servant.
We confess that we are more interested in fixing ourselves poorly than in letting you transform us.

Forgive us.

Help us.

Keep talking, please, as you will.

Through the amazing work of Christ our Lord,

Amen.

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Jeremiah 18:1-11; Philemon 1-21