Blank page moment

I'm having a blank page moment. 

God, I want to fill this blank page with something that makes you smile. 

Something that says, 'Here he is: my God. And he's my Friend.'

What? 

Should I have something to say about how I would like to have a Thanksgiving Holiday like my friends in the US? How I imagine them over there with houses full of laughing family and friends, lit windows giving glimpses of warm, decorated rooms and people sitting round laden tables, hands held, eyes closed, giving thanks to the Provider?

Should I go where I usually go when I don't have words - the Psalms? Should I pick a psalm of praise and add my own contributions, lifting my heart to you in the sure knowledge that my heart will be lighter when you give it back to me than it was when I offered it to you in my hands?

Maybe I should make a list. Of worries to offload, anxieties that make that vertical line between my eyebrows ever deeper; things that I need to offer you once again, even though I've done so a million times, yet always crept back under cover of darkness and gathered them up again. Maybe I could someday leave them with you?

Should I come to you with armfuls of hopes and dreams and longings that I dust off, daily as I wait for your timing? Perhaps you would give me insight into your Plan, so that I can once and for all crumple my inferior, short-sighted one and throw it away, because at last I see, really see, that yours is better?

Perhaps I should describe what's in front of me, sitting here in my kitchen, the wind blowing so hard that the bird table is on its side and the neighbourhood cats all have their fur blown backwards. The leaves swirling in a fountain in the air. Or what I hear, which is the sound of the news on television. Someone lost his legs in Afghanistan. Someone raped on a towpath. Someone suing for libel. Someone sheltering their children from bombs. 

Should I ask you what it's all about? Should I give you my anger and frustration that you could stop these things, but you don't? 

Shall I write a diary entry? Shall I tell you what I've done so far today, what my thoughts and feelings have been? How I managed something this morning that I've been putting off for a fortnight but how long my To Do list still remains; how I finished a book that has inspired me and how I drank too much coffee and ate too many biscuits? 

Shall I try for a poem? 

Shall I search for an inspiring word from someone else and talk about it? 

Shall I write a stream-of-consciousness trundle down memory lane in the hope that I might make sense of things that happened to me many years ago? 

I could do any of those things. 

But what I want to do is just sit here and love you. I don't need words, much as I love them, and much as you indulge me. You are Almighty God. You don't need anything from me. 

There's nothing that I can do to make you love me more, and there's nothing that I can do to make you love me less. 

You don't want anything, you want everything. I want to give you all that I can.

Here's all of the above.

Here am I. 

I love you, Daddy.