Psalm XV

I don't know why it's so hard for me to come to You.
I'm thirsty but I won't come to the well. I'm hungry but I won't leave my tent to gather manna.
So I will wait until I'm so desperate that I don't have another option but to come.
When I do, I drink and eat freely.
And then I starve myself of Your presence for the next few days.
It's an endless cycle.
I look around at people indulging daily in Your goodness, yet I cannot bring myself to partake.
It's as if it's too easy, too loving.
I feel like You're so far away, but it's me:
I'm sitting uncomfortably in the superficial comfort of my tent.
You brought me to this place; You're the only reason I have the option to stubbornly sit here as opposed to slaving away bearing the weight of my sin on my shoulders.
I wish I could truthfully say that there is some spiritual pushback keeping me here, but I'd be lying: the enemy leaves be those he doesn't consider a threat.