Coming back to be with Jesus

Dear Reader,
It feels like a season has passed by where I have forgotten to really come to Jesus just to be with Him. This is me, coming back.

Jesus I am here on a hurting morning... I feel two kinds of loss. One of unimportance and disregard; a loss of 'special-ness'. The other is a loss of connection - no longer with the ability to reach out and love this soul. It is really sad. So with my heart just as it is I am coming to sit with You. You told me a long time ago that You'd always be there, all through the day, on the bench waiting for me. As I walk up to the bench You rise and turn. You walk towards me with a smile on Your face but compassion in Your expression. You are saying " Don't be sad little One." You take my hand and turn me into a dance. It is so cool how even as we seem to float around the bench turning, swaying, moving at times so swiftly yet with such a tender touch... You are even still, able to make me feel that I am being held so closely so firmly by Your hands and Your heart. You don't let even a hint of sadness in. Looking into my eyes, you smile and laugh then You sigh with contentment. How? No matter. That is not a question for now.
We are now sitting on the edge of a building, I know this place well we've been up here on this roof many times ... we are in our city. We let what we are seeing literally soak in. The crazy deep wildness of the trees and deep greens touched with gold, red, orange and yellows to our right and ultimately surrounding this whole place. The street below is quiet, clean, empty... the doors of the buildings I see are sitting open; windows too. And although I hadn't felt it a breeze moves in and out. It picks up the curtains every now and again and pulling them out of the open window like a call, to those who might pass by, to come in. The windows, however, will not betray what is inside... they give no hints of what is waiting within. And yet they call. I reach over and grasp Your hand not wanting to do anything but remain as close as I can to You.
There is a huge canvas behind us and pots of every color imaginable beneath it. We look at each other and smile, then laugh... YES! At first with reckless abandon we grab handfuls of paint and throw, hurl, toss, sprinkle and smear the colors across the white... it bursts out in color and emotion. The canvas is then washed over by a yellow that seems to move as a wave of the ocean as it covers. What is painted next is not done with our hands but with our hearts.