The Glove

There is something that prevents me from fully connecting to The Father. It’s like a glove that fits so well it almost seems part of me. I know it doesn’t belong here but it protects my hand and when moments become too difficult the glove provides a level of perceived protection that I’ve come to depend on.

The glove is not something I simply put on now and then. The glove is always there. I long to understand life without the glove. I wonder that there is not a level of feeling I can’t quite commit to because the glove is in the way. I don’t like the glove and as I mature it doesn’t fit that well. But after 50-yearrs how does one take the glove off for good?

Here I am at 5:30 in the morning. I look up and imagine The Father holding out his hand saying “Rick, hand me the glove.”

It’s not that simple but just knowing that causes me to believe that something in me is dying and this could be a very good day.