I ache for my God, as I sometimes hear it described at church. That isn’t an expression I usually use personally, but today I can relate. There’s a physical pain in my chest, the place you feel it after someone has died.
I want to feel the way I felt after that beautiful conversation where He kissed me. But it’s like He’s dead.
I’ve been thinking about what Leona said about blood memory. What if it’s true that people can pass down their blood memory from generation to generation? That might explain some of my highs and lows.
What if my sudden feelings of sadness that I can’t explain are actually flashbacks?
What if I’m experiencing the blood memory of Mary Magdalene? How did she feel when she saw our Lord take his last breath?
I imagine she felt similar to what I feel now.
I take comfort in the fact Mary saw Jesus in the garden, like Jesus came to me the other day. This sadness isn’t real, then – it’s just a memory. An awful, painful memory, but one I pray will bring me closer to God.