Far be it from me to suggest that I may have been out of touch with my own self in the past several months, but let me suggest just that. I have been sorely out of touch with myself in the past few months. Although I prayed every day, I also felt as if I was out of touch with God. No matter what spiritual books I read, saying a hearty “Amen” to what I read, or what practices I tried to employ to get me over the hump, I remained absolutely stuck. Stuck rhymes with another work…and it was that, too. Yes, it stunk! (I trust you to get what rhymes with stuck.)
Gosh darn it all to heck, a once ongoing issue had me scared and traumatized to the point where I could no longer write. I was completely afraid to write for fear of some unforeseen backlash. Being totally afraid to write left me in a place where my soul got sucked dry. Each day I prayed to God to help me deal with the fear and the trauma, and to bless whatever might be the source of my fear.
Some things are like the interest on credit cards, or a saving account. I needed do nothing, but they were compounded daily, or annually, and now I even sort of know what that means, because I am no financial genius. You can trust me on that. It means that even things I ignored added up, and even as I kept ignoring them, they continued to add up, then one day God came down and froze my assets and then what did I do? Well, I prayed harder. I also may have gotten depressed quite a lot.
There I sat. My assets frozen, and I could not move because of, or from, fear. Suddenly, the deficits started to pile up. First, my own perceived deficits, and I found that they piled up quickly, with no interest whatsoever. Some deficits I acquired rightfully…I judged, I spoke ill of someone, I felt compassion at times, and anger at others. Other deficits were old issues, long gone, but back again for a visit, and I let them in, gave them tea, and a place to stay. Fear lived in my home, and faith and fear do not cohabit well together.
What was I afraid of, you ask? It makes no matter at this point in time. What mattered then was that my fear was based in pride, and the resurrection of old trauma. It took me a long time to figure that out, and even when I *knew* it as plain as the nose on my face, it would not disappear. Still, I continued to pray every day. I did not pray only for me, but for the source of my fear. For some softening—for an end to hate and an opening to love. I have been praying for that for a year and a half and nothing, but I am no quitter!
There are times when God tests us, and He does so not just by trials, but by a feeling of dryness in our faith. Lord knows, (Oh, yes, He does!) just how stale I felt. As a Montana gal, I do not give easily, so while I faltered many times, I did not give up, and then the grace of God descended upon me in the form of something so gracious, loving, and humble, that my weak faith never thought it would appear. Ah, but it did, because God is good, and I am one persistent woman, for the good, or the bad. God has given me the biggest prayer of my heart, and the fear is gone. Today, I can write. Hallelujah, today, I can write.
As is often the case, I write with tears streaming down my cheeks, and so much joy in my heart. I pray that this is the start of a reconciliation of sorts—of a new beginning. Today is the first day of spring and I welcome the thought of an end to the cold, and renewal, and new beginnings, and while there are still many unknowns in my life at this moments, I can feel the coming of sunshine, and warmth, and love. All of this come thanks to a season of trial, and the glorious grace of God. Hope, like this new season, springs eternal, and my gratitude is too large to fill this page. May that grace find all of you, too.