I know when God’s telling me somethig because it pisses me off. (Anonymous)

God’s voice to some comes solfly,
comfort personified – or so I’m told.
But then again,
when he’s ready for me
to change a long-treasured part of me,
a habit lived past usefulness,
he can irritate like sand in a shoe,
like a hangnail, like chalk screeching.
Maybe a still small voice worked
for Elijah. But  me, I get a violin
in need of tuning.