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| Photo by Grace Gilchrist |
The moonless night beyond the window obscured the barren branches of the peach tree and hushed birds that nestled against the cold until first light. I envied their ability to sleep. I feared lying awake in darkness with nothing to dull the sharp edge of grief.
A box containing sympathy notes and expressions of condolence lay on the table beside me. My once-a-day trek to the mailbox to retrieve them was my only foray into the outside world. I pulled the box onto my lap and unfolded a many-times-read note penned by an old friend. One phrase leapt from the surface and captured my attention. All others fell away. “Don’t lose your faith,” it warned.
I initially read those words as well-meaning, but dismissed them as unnecessary. Now, I pondered their significance. My heart was frozen by the chill of emptiness and loss. Prayer seemed pointless. Had I lost faith?
A speechless voice emerged from the stillness and hung in the winter air. In a crystalline moment of comprehension, I knew it was God.
“Do you trust me?”
“You have got to be kidding!” I said aloud. My voice rose, choked with tears and fury. “How could you ask that? I begged for the life of my daughter Tara, and she died. I prayed for her baby girl Alden, and she died. I prayed for my grandson Spencer, and he was taken away against his wishes, and I was powerless to protect him.* And, now you ask, “Do you trust me!”
Judging my outburst of negative emotion inappropriate when conversing with God, I struggled to regain the proper decorum. How do I feel, I asked myself. Numerous false starts later, I begrudgingly responded.
“I suppose I still love you. . .and I don’t want to live without you, but do I trust you? No . . .I can’t say that I do.”
True intimacy cannot exist until we abandon the mask of pretense, risk vulnerability and dare to state the truth. In that moment of raw, uncensored authenticity, I unwittingly stepped from behind the hiding place of propriety, discarded words measured to please, and experienced my first truly honest conversation with God.
Gifts are hidden in brokenness. I realize now I was not asked if I trusted God would ensure the outcome for which I prayed. I was asked, “Do you trust me enough, love me enough, to tell me the truth even if the words are not pretty? Do you trust me enough to allow me to share your pain?”
During that winter of spirit, I discovered God’s faithfulness transcends anger, and truth is the gateway to trust.
Reflections:
“Only by expressing our anger and resentment directly to God in prayer will we come to know the fullness of love and freedom.”~ Pierre Wolff
“Trouble is part of life. If you don’t share it, you don’t give the person who loves you a chance to love you enough.”~Dinah Shore“To have real conversation may seem like such a simple, obvious suggestion, but it involves courage and risk.”~Thomas Moore
“When hard pressed, I cried to the Lord; he brought me into a spacious place.” ~Psalm 118:5
-Do I speak honestly in prayer, or do I weigh my words carefully?
-What are my thoughts about prayers that seem to be unanswered?
-How does prayer influence my faith?
-How does faith influence my prayer?
Prayer: (Excerpts from “Psalms for a Stalled Heart”~ Edward Hays)
Send forth your spirit
to revive my heart
Spark it with a relish for service,
with a longing to pray
May I seek to love and serve you
even when my wintry heart
declines to dance with
springtime grace. Amen
*Thin Boards, Sept. 21, 2011
*Thin Boards, Sept. 21, 2011
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