Unravelling my life

I started reading Richard Foster’s book on prayer a few days ago, hoping to find my way back to the time when to breathe was to pray, and to pray was to know with unshakeable knowing that God IS and IS GOOD. Chapter One was Simple Prayer. ‘Dear God, help me! Bless me! Feed me!’ and so on. Prayer 101, so to speak. But Chapter Two is called The Prayer of the Forsaken and when I read it, something clicked deep inside.

"We know theologically that God is always with us, but theological niceties are little help when we enter the Sahara of the heart, when we experience real spiritual desolation ... we feel abandoned by God. Every hope evaporates the moment we reach for it. Every dream dies the moment we try to realize it. We question, we doubt, we struggle. We pray and the words seem empty... etc."

He goes on to explain what a blessing the dark night can be, as God uses it to strip us of dependence on outward things, like church and liturgy and control - and also strips us of dependence on inward things, like our superficial drives and human strivings and needs. I groaned in recognition of some of the things he said, like: "...we become tentative and unsure of ourselves. The nagging questions become relentless 'Is prayer only a psychological trick? Is there any real meaning in the universe? Does God really exist and if he does, is he good and intent on our goodness, or not?'” Yes and amen! Those are my questions! And yet, I feel so afraid and so guilty when they come spilling out of me, swooshing out on tides of tears and bitterness and desperation.

I recognize this place. I’ve been here before. The wasteland is familiar, full of pain and doubt and yearning. Two years ago, I spent nearly nine months in this place, and when I left it, I hoped it was for good. But it seems that for some reason, I’m back here again. Am I just depressed? It doesn’t feel that way. Am I stressed out? Maybe – but then, as a good Christian, shouldn’t I be clinging to God to get thru the stress, not standing here wondering if He’s real, or if He cares. But that’s exactly how I’ve been feeling of late.

Richard Foster goes on to say that through our barrenness of soul, God is producing detachment, humility, patience and perseverance. And he concludes this particular chapter with the words quoted above, spoken first by Bernard of Clairvaux: O my God, deep calls unto deep. The deep of my profound misery calls to the deep of your infinite mercy.

There are several areas that trouble me at present and that are so interwoven in my mind that it’s going to take a while to unravel them all. Things like our proposed emigration and related issues of what kind of work am I going to do for the next twenty years and where will I be doing it. Will I be spending the rest of my life alone, unloved and undesired by a man? Will I ever find contentment in God alone?

One thing at a time. Starting tomorrow….

Elleann.
Skating warily over thin ice.