The transition that has occurred in my life has left me wondering many things. I have been through such a purging of all things religious that many days I sit dumbfounded and wonder who I am. On those days I find myself uncertain of God’s activity in my life. It’s been a long time since I have sat with pen and paper, words pouring out from Him to me. There have been subtle nudges, but nothing like I was accustomed to when I was doing all the things a good Christian should do.
It leaves me often to wonder where He is in all of this. I’ve been talking to Him about it recently, asking Him to show me where He has been in the midst of my hard days.
Today, out of nowhere, I sat down to look over this blog. I was made aware of 14 drafts that I had started and stopped, never publishing. One in particular caught my eye today. It was from 4 years ago. I was waiting the birth of my 1st grand. I was reminiscing back to the days when I first became a mom.
There was so much uncertainty. I had heard it expressed that a mother knows the different cries of her child. I couldn’t fathom how that could happen. As I sat anticipating my daughter’s horizon I realized how deeply it had happened. I had, after all, learned the cries of my children.
I learned the cry that revealed they were in pain. I knew the tears of their anger. Whimpers in the night awakened me instantly to their needs. I knew when to stand outside the room and listen. I learned when to rush in to hold them tight. Though my responses were different at times, when my child cried out I heard them each and every time.
Each individual situation determined my action towards their tears. The cries of pain sent me running, while their tears of weariness often left me standing just outside the door listening. As I waited, the cries would lead them to a place of exhaustion where their bodies surrendered to a place of sweet rest, a rest they desperately needed.
Remembering this picture today hits a spot for me. I think He’s answering my question.
As I’ve moved away from all my religious practices He has seemed so absent. I have felt so wrong. I lived the bulk of my life responsible for the relationship with Him. When I stopped the things I had always done, everything around me began to change.
It’s easier when I was doing all the “supposed to” things to feel the presence of God near me. But I’m seeing now that it left me in a feeling based life. I felt good when I was doing all the right things. As I did what I was told to do I felt like the obedient, godly child in right standing. When I was not, I felt bad, dirty, wrong.
I’ve come to realize that I have nothing to do with my right standing. It’s caused me to lay down the “supposed to’s” of this life. More days I spend silently believing than loudly declaring or beseeching. It is a great contrast to the years of living out of rules and regulations.
I walk naked before Him. I come with nothing to offer. I come simply because I believe. I am not fulfilling obligations. I am a pile on the floor, emptied of the driving force of my good behavior. The hardest part is the absence of feelings that once led me forward. As I’ve cried I’ve not seen Him come running. It’s left me confused to say the least. It can easily exacerbate the wrong feelings I have.
Today I was reminded of the days I stood outside the door of my child. I longed to go in and get them yet knew if I did it would prolong what they needed; rest. So I waited outside. I was never far from them. I was right there, listening, attentively to the sounds emanating from their tiny bodies. Nothing could stop that.
As I ponder this old blog post something settles inside me. Could it be that on my long nights of pain as I cried out He stood just outside the door waiting, as I did with my own? Could it be it’s what I needed the most? As I remember the days with my own I am left to wonder. Has He been standing outside the door allowing the weariness to take over my soul leading to lead me to a new place of rest?
This is a game changer for me. May it be for you too.
@copyrighted 2016 Julie H. Todd