Chatting with God - "Sometimes, Lord . . ."

Hello, Lord. I wanted to . . . Well – if it doesn’t offend – I was thinking . . . uhm . . .

Oh, blow this. You know everything, so who am I trying to kid? Here we go.

Sometimes, Lord – with all respect – You feel far. I start praying, and it’s as if I’m talking to the wall. “Thank You so much for the blessing of today and everything You spoiled me with.” Blank silence. “I pray for Your Hand over this and that, and that You will intervene in Situation ABC.” Blank silence continues. “And please, Lord, heal H, and soften the heart of L.” Blank. “In Your precious Name I ask these things. Amen.” Blank, blank, blank.

It’s like every word I say bounces off the ceiling and back into my tearstained face.

So I get introspective, Father. What unconfessed sin is there in my heart? Who have I not forgiven? Which habits and desires do I need to get rid of? I do the necessary heart-cleaning, and try again.

Uhm. Blank.

I decide to chuck my to-pray-for-list and just glorify You. It works, in that it lifts my heart and restores some perspective. But there’s still this sense of “undelivered mail returned to sender”, and it’s horribly disheartening.

Since I’ve gone this far, I might as well continue. If You don’t mind, dear God, I’m going to craft my defence.

It’s not as if I’ve made a habit of living far from You, Father. It’s not as if I’ve never actively sought You, making no effort to sit in Your Presence and seek Your guidance. And it’s not as if it was always like this. There were times when Your Presence was so real I felt I could touch it. I remember my fourteen-year-old self, in bed and almost asleep, but powerfully aware of You being in the room with me. I remember myself at sixteen, convulsed with sobs as You broke the barriers within me and left me reeling, breathlessly bent double from Your intervention.

And then there’s me now, seriously (and very impatiently) seeking Your will over big things. I ask, I give it to You, I resist the urge to take it back and run with it – and fail, bring it back, ask again, and leave it with You. But it still feels like, “The susbcriber you have dialled is not available at present. Please try again later.”

Your silence is even harder to take than Your sadness at my disobedience. The silence is just so . . . dead. But it’s also watchful, in a way. I can almost sense You looking very carefully at how I handle this spiritual valley, this inexplicable feeling of distance on Your side.

Character-building and faith-strengthening. I know, Lord. But I find it frustrating and disheartening, and I just wanted You to know.

[Silence]

Wait, Lord. I think . . . Yes. It’s there.

That recklessly peaceful peace, despite the circumstances screaming discouragement? That’s You.

Still there.