Not too long ago, I went through a major emotional upheaval, and at the time, not knowing what else to do, I prayed. I've never been a big prayer. I've talked pretty frequently with God (in my own opinion), and not just the "hey, can you do this for me" kind of praying, either. Thanking Him for the blessings in my life has been first and foremost for as long as I can remember. When the boys were very small, I remember praying often for patience, too, which is how I learned the tough lessons about 'getting what you pray for.' It didn't take long for me to realize that if I asked for patience, I would get lots of trying situations to give me an opportunity to practice! Before long, I shifted to more thankfulness: Thanks for the longer naps today; thanks for sending that hug through his little arms just at the point that I needed it; thanks for the gentle breeze while we were walking home.
At certain times, though, I've found myself despairing. Truly lost in grief, frustration, fear, confusion. Often, I would pray then, but not always, and not necessarily with my whole heart. Sometimes I would turn again to the expected, "help me" prayers, and would wind up wondering when I would get help, find peace, understand. Occasionally (not nearly enough, but I'm a little bullheaded at times), I would hit a rock bottom place. At those times, usually because of some offhand remark by a friend, as a last resort, I would breathe deeply and simply say, "Thy will be done."
After 9/11, that's when I finally was able to sleep through the night. I felt peace instantly. Tears still spring to my eyes when I think of it, the feeling was so intense and so sudden. I remember the most recent time as vividly. I was driving on the highway, and I felt profoundly lost. The GPS was guiding me with the tires, but my heart was racing everywhere. The boys were sleeping or listening to music on their iPods; the radio was on. I'm pretty sure the window was wide open. It was summertime. Aloud, I said, "God, guide me. I'll do what you suggest. Thy will be done." Within 24-hours, I was gazing at the Gulf of Mexico, and I had an answer.
Life is a journey. The destination, though of some import, is only a small piece of the puzzle. My whole life, I've believed that the destination is worth less (not "worthless," just having less worth; less fun) if the trip is ignored. Dad used to take the back roads and lesser highways. When I was little, I thought it was just because there are more ice cream shops on the byways. When we went to Rhode Island for the first time to visit a college, I realized he was taking Route 6 to make the trip longer; to drive home, metaphorically, how far away I would be from what I knew if I went that far away to school. I will always remember that trip as being tortuously long enough to convince me that I could never spend that much time with any of my family members ever again. That journey helped me to make my decision, though not the decision Dad was hoping for, I'd wager. (The end result was okay with him--I loved my life in RI, and there I met the love of my life.)
In my life, though, I've been coasting more than I thought until I looked at the Gulf, at the boardwalk leading to it, and considered how perfection is most beautiful when it is imperfect. That boardwalk made me happy, even though walking on it meant watching out for the boards that were warped or out of place. When I think of the peace I felt there, I can feel the water lapping at my feet, my legs, my arms. I feel the sun as the love shining down on me. The beach and the water were beautifully refreshing, and gave me the strength I needed to make a promise.
In thanksgiving, I promised to examine my heart, and open it to God's graces. I still have questions (plenty of them!) and I still wonder where I'm going sometimes. But there is a trust there in my heart that amazes and awes me. Now I am learning about the joys of believing in more than I did yesterday. Each day is the beginning of another small journey, each of which builds to take me closer to wherever that is. I trust that parts of that journey will be surprises to me--some happy, some sad; some confusing, and some enlightening--but will combine with the plans, hopes and dreams that I work toward.
Faith, at the moment, to me, is a collaboration, and I am ever so thankful for the newness I feel in every aspect of my life. Prayers from years ago--almost forgotten!--have been getting answers (not always "yes," either! and I don't mind!) and more thankfulness, peace and energy has been flowing in. Trust. Trust is the miracle I've witnessed at least twice in the past 6 months. Trust borne of faith, hope, and love.
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