Prayer

I have had an analogy buzzing at the edges of my conscious for many months now.  I have wanted to flesh it out in writing, but I'm not sure that I will be sharing this on Facebook.  There are all sorts of concerns that I have about making these very personal feelings public.  I guess I will write it down for myself, and then let it rest a while before I decide what I will do with it.  The metaphor that won't go away begins like this:

Imagine a child who wants to love their parent, but their parent seems distant and difficult to talk to.  They have been told all of their life that their parent is easy to talk to, is readily available, and is easily accessible.  But, that seems a foreign concept to the child.  That certainly hasn't been her experience.  Then, after years of effort of differing degrees of intensity, a beautiful relationship builds such that the child now comes to their parent often and consistently feels connected.  It seems to the child that time and time again, their parent responds to pleas of help to soften a heart, to change a desire, to help her change.  I imagine this pleading to happen in the kitchen, because that's where I have many of my conversations with my own children.

Then, something unexpected and painful happens in the child's life.  The child is lost, confused.  Since the child has done everything she was told she was supposed to do to continue the connection, in fact she has fulfilled the requirements several times over, she feels confident she will get help.   Even though the experience is painful, more painful than she ever thought possible, she knows she just needs to ask for help, and it will come.  The child, as per her learned pattern, comes to her parent tearfully pleading for help.  Surely, her parent will, once again, help to soften the pain, to change her heart.  Surprisingly, she gets nothing.  Often, she will feel the equivalence of a comfort hug, but no help with the pain.  Hmm.  This doesn't make sense.  She just needs to keep trying.  So, she repeatedly begs for help. . . in tears. . . again. . . and again. . . and again. . . again. . . again. . . aga. . .  ag. . . a. . .  Then, she comes to her parent with drier eyes, and asks. . . . . Nothing. . . . . . .   Then, she is done crying. . . but she still asks. . . . Nothing. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Now, she is stronger.  Not only are the tears long gone, but she no longer asks.  Her heart has healed, and is now scarred and protected.  She still goes through the motions of keeping the connection, but her confidence is gone.  Long.  Gone.  When she approaches her parent, it is to ask for strength and peace for those who struggle; it is to ask for help for others.  But, truth be told, she is not sure she believes that extra help will really come.  It is more for her own comfort that she is voicing this love and concern for her loved ones.  She has enough respect for her parent to continue to include her, now distant, parent --  Father -- in her life, but she no longer has faith to believe that He listens or responds. . . or cares. 

She is strong.  She believes in listening to her gut.  She has learned to trust herself and her intentions.  She has learned to love more people, especially those who have experienced deep pain.  She believes in the goodness of men and women everywhere.  She has seen God in the love that people show to each other, and is drawn to those who choose love over judgment and criticism.  Her protected heart has grown into a much stronger foundation of trust in herself.  Perhaps, like a certain ruby-shoe-wearing character from a show she can't stand, she has discovered that she had it in her all along.  All she had to do was recognize it and find it within herself. 

I used to pray to something
Something
Something I called God

I expected the warmth of
Good Morning, of
I've missed you, of
I'm glad you're back



Silence
The deafening kind
empty



Now I pray to nothing
nothing

and no one answers