"I Need a Song..."

"I need a song..." Those were the words that I thought as I walked to my car only 40 minutes ago. After a long day, those were the words I could think to say to God. It was a good day. But there are still just things that confuse me, that I want to talk about with God. There are emotions about His forgiveness, there are pleas about His assitance, and I wanted a song to sing to Him to let Him know how I felt.
I rifled through the songs I knew quickly, but none could adequately describe all of how I felt. Then I realized that I don't need a song at all. God already knows.
His Spirit intercedes for me, forming the words I couldn't think of. My sighs turn into perfect clarity when the Spirit takes them to the Father. God already knew how I felt. He knew better than I even did.
About His forgiveness: it is. It is. It's there. I believe that He knows my heart, that He knows how sorry I am for sin, and how badly I want to change. I can't express that at times, but I know He knows. And I know He has grace to match every one of my sins. I know that He holds not one of them against me. Just this morning I was thinking about my inability to get things right. And I looked to God and wanted to cry out, "Why help me? You know my past; I'm never going to make it." And how amazing is it that God knows my past, sure, but He doesn't hold it against me. He keeps no record of wrongs. He doesn't condemn me.
Wow...
About His assistance: He will. He will. He will help me. I'm so weak; I feel like I'm messing up all the time. But His Spirit will always give me strength if I'll just look to Him. And when I fall, I trust that my Father is there to catch me. He wants me to strive towards perfection, though we both know I'll never reach it. He forgives my faults, but empowers me to move onward, to move upward.
What a Father! That I don't have to be afraid of my sin, or of my inabilities to "get it right" sometimes. Because He hasn't given me a spirit of fear, but one by which I can now cry Abba, Father.
And so, I don't have the words, but He puts them together for me. And so, I cry, "Abba. Father."