The snow has melted, the icicles have all dripped their way into the ground. Icicles are gorgeous, especially when they reflect different colors of the objects around them. While they are hanging with an invisible grip on the gutter or roof or even trees, they put on a quiet, mysterious show. They change shape. They look so very sincere.
As I talk to God, I think I am a bit like an icicle; steadily dripping, firmly hanging on. Not begging to be looked at or listened to, just quietly there, acknowledging who the Lord is. I trust that he hears me. I KNOW He does His will, no matter what I may want. I do ask for help for many people and for myself, knowing and believing that He will do what He does best.
Comfort comes in the middle of the night when I mentally throw up my hands (so as to not knock somebody in the face) and say, "Okay, I'm not going to fuss with this mess anymore. YOU know what's happening and only YOU can really fix it!" I can't even Play God. It's too exhausting. So like the icicle, I drip away into what seems like nothing, but actually still is something. Evaporated. Invisible. But really still there. In the state of memory, the truth in having been heard.