Why is it that I take solace in writing my darkest thoughts and placing them in a public space for unknown people to read?
Why is it that I take such comfort in reading the words of others whom I have never (as yet) met?
Why do I continue to read writings that do nothing but bring me pain and doubt?
Why do I eagerly wait for unknown people to leave their comments regarding my darkest thoughts? Do I really believe that these people can have answers to my most pressing and life-altering questions? (I ask you!)
Why do I place such value on people and yet completely disregard the words of the only One who should matter?
Why, no matter how many times he tells me otherwise, do I insist upon the belief that my dearest Husband doesn’t really love me, that he won’t really stick around, and that I’ll never be enough for him?
Why is it that when I sit down in the temple, all of the ugliest nastiest thoughts and images that I have had and seen in my life come flooding in and refuse to leave without a fight?
Why must it rain so much?