So I'd say for about a month now I've been feeling pretty terrible about what I can reasonably describe as a "dry season" in the things of God. I'd like to call it a blatant and insulting lack of passion, because that's what it feels like, but I know in the middle of Song of Solomon the bridegroom leaves and on the story goes to a happy ending. Whatever you want to call it, and however okay it is, I feel yucky. Praying made it worse because I'd devote some serious time to it, and then just feel disappointed with how much I did not feel myself connect with God's heart.
Last night, as my typewritter and I did some zine-ing on the couch, Timothy sat down next to me with this very serious look on his face. "Lex, I gotta tell you ..." My mind started to race about what sort of bad news he was about to lay on me. Not because I'm pessimistic, but you should have heard the tone in his voice: it was serious.
He proceeded to tell me the over the past month or so he's really noticed God doing some good things in me, and my faith maturing, and it being very inspiring, etc. I didn't believe him at first (maybe I am pessimistic ...), but I know my wonderful husband wouldn't lie at me.
It was strange. And very encouraging.