"And I beseech you, brethren, suffer the word of exhortation: for I have written a letter unto you in few words." (Hebrews 13:22) The letter, killed
There's this place called "The Dead Letter Office". The one in America located somewhere in Missouri. Whenever one elects to send a letter through the mail and both the return address is missing (either having been omitted or defaced), and the "send to" address is wrong, the letter gets shipped off (as opposed to sent, right?) to The Dead Letter Office. I imagine this enormous, brutalistic government building, its edifice a concrete-gray wall against the slight breeze that ruffles the young elm trees lining the street. I suppose I could look it up and find its picture. I'm inclined to think, though, of something akin to a "giant tomb for mail".
"Every branch in me that beareth not fruit He taketh away: and every branch that beareth fruit, He purgeth it, that it may bring forth more fruit." (John 15:2)
Where have you been? Where are you going? Think about your life. Think about all the possibilities open to you. Do you still feel you could do anything? Does it stem from not being satisfied with where you are? Or does it have more to do with an overactive imagination that refuses to acknowledge responsibility, thereby negating the more-important "stability" of work/home life/family? I suppose, for me, it's a mixture of any and every one of those (two) things, undergirded by my faith. My belief that "[God] is, and that He is a rewarder of them that diligently seek Him." (Hebrews 11:6b) Okay.
Letters of intent
"Ye see how large a letter I have written unto you with mine own hand." (Galatians 6:11)
I'm looking to draw parallels between us as a letter written by God and this intriguing place where letters go to, not die but perhaps get redirected or returned or otherwise dealt with in a manner befitting the legalities of the postal system. See, no one but God has full and complete, legal access to you (as does this office, the contents of your mail). Whenever I sit down to journal and I get a glimpse of some vein I feel leads deep down to my core, things get gray and fuzzy. That is, if I try and elucidate every last detail of what I've found. There are places in us only God has access to. Doesn't mean He isn't slowly leading you down in order for you to eventually wrap your mind around those places, but you will never plumb the depths of your person without Him allowing it, if that makes sense. He made you. He has access to all of you, if I may. And when Jesus talks above of every branch "that beareth not fruit", God is serious about seeing you do what He made you to do. Don't complicate it. While the verdict may still be out about the one thing on your plate, or several, that you'd spend the rest of you life performing--whether you got paid or not--whatever it is you love and live for is that for which you were made. Or perhaps we forgot from whence we came? Perhaps the place we set out to reach has changed through our own convoluted circumstances? Either of those two would necessitate a trip to the Dead Letter Office. The place where God would repackage you if needed and overhaul your insides (remember, only He really knows what's written in there). To re-address you and refresh your purpose.
"Who delievered us from so great a death, and doth deliver: in whom we trust that He will yet deliver us;" (2 Corinthians 1:10)
The thing about God's "Dead Letter Office" is that He always restores to that better thing you never thought would come back around.
"For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, not things to come, Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Romans 8:38-39)
A good place to start.