God, I Found This in the Drafts Folder

Still Here.

I’ve written to you before quietly, hesitantly then left the words unsent.
Not because they weren’t sincere, but because they felt too unfinished.
Too questioning.

I often default to the phrase “your ways are higher than our ways”
as if it’s a spiritual shortcut,
a way to bypass the ache of not understanding.
But sometimes I wonder if I’ve used it to avoid the harder work—
the wrestling, the waiting, the asking.

So here I am, not hitting SEND, but still writing.

Why do people suffer?
Why is suffering so often the soil where faith grows?
Is pain the only language some of us can hear you in?

Why does hunger exist—physical, emotional, spiritual?
Is it meant to point us toward you,
to remind us that even bread and answers are not enough?

I don’t expect tidy replies.
I’m not asking for a cosmic FAQ.
But I do want to know if you’re near when the questions feel louder than the comfort.
If you’re listening when I don’t know how to pray,
only how to type.

This letter may stay in the drafts folder.
But maybe that’s where you meet me most often—
in the unsent, the unfinished, the unspoken.

Still yours,
Still asking,
Still here.