You named me Barbara. It means "stranger". Looking back over the 50 years You have thus appointed to me, I have been a stranger. Always on the fringe. Never really included. Never really connected. I have to believe You have had a bigger reason for doing this. Your word says you know the hairs on my head, you set out my steps before me, you love me as your child. You have a plan for me - for my good, not harm.
When You did great things to people in the past, you changed their name - Abram to Abraham, Saul to Paul, etc. Change my name. Please. Change me.
Some refer to times like this as being in the desert. It only fits - the Israelites, Jesus - all experienced a desert, a dry time. I different. If the wet kleenex in my trash are any indication, I'm far from dehydrated. I'm a flood of tears and emotion.
Your word is true, I know that. It is because of this that over 30 years ago I was able to commit my life to You. But sometimes, as I recite these promises, they don't ring true. They sound like just words. I cling to the life preserver of Your Word and I stay afloat, but I'm still afraid as the waves of loneliness crash over me. I'm looking for the rescue plane to fly overhead.