Soaking isn’t Washing

Y’all ever crawl in the tub just to soak?

Like, no soap — just sit there awhile and then climb back out as dirty as before?
Yeah… I do that more often than I’d like to admit. And it hit me today how much that resembles my spiritual life lately.

Showing up for the dang thing, even soaking in it, but missing the point entirely.

Yep. That’s me.

Lately my rosary has felt like that. I sit with the beads, move my fingers, say the words — or at least my lips do — but my heart stays somewhere else. I’m present, but not really participating.

In the water, but not washing.

It’s wild how easy it is to drift into that kind of passivity. To let prayer become a warm bath instead of a real encounter. To let the mysteries pass over me like steam instead of letting them scrub the places still caked with fear, pride, and resentment.

But I know the difference.
My heavy heart yearns for more than a pleasant soak.
My homesick soul wants the water to actually do what it was meant to do.

I don’t want to just sit in the tub of grace. I want to be changed by it.

So here I am, Lord —  and I’m tired of soaking. Please wash me.

Peace,
Joshua