Prayer and Laments

Two of my very dear friends have endometriosis (more fully explained here). Both have experienced multiple treatments and medications and adapted to ever-changing pain management plans while also: working on their marriages, raising their children, and being amazing friends to me.

These wonderful women are part of my small group that meets each Wednesday. We’ve cried and lamented and shaken our fists. And we’ve lifted thanksgivings and given praise. We’ve done everything we can think of on their behalf in our conversations with God each week. And still our friends are in pain.

And while one of our friends seems to be finally finding some relief, our other friend’s case is decidedly more difficult and complex, with what seems to be a never-ending list of complications.

I won’t lie. I am pretty upset with God about this. Why God? Why would you be faithful to some and not to others? Why would you turn a deaf ear to all of us who literally beg each week, each day even, that you would heal this hurt and end this suffering? Why would this faithful, trusting, joyful person who does nothing but look to you in thanks and hope still be lying in a bed with a broken body? Should she suffer until her spirit is broken too?

As a small group, this has become a difficult storm for us to navigate. Often when we meet to study or discuss, we’re able to find answers in scripture or in history. We turn to the words of Jesus and the stories of faithful people. We turn to a tradition that lifts up psalms and prayer as a means of connecting with God. Of being heard by God.

And yet our deepest prayers seem to be left unanswered.

Last night one of us raised the question: “Why do we pray?” One response was that we’re not entirely sure; we don’t really know what prayer does. And we talked a bit about it before going off in another direction.

But all the way home I continued to roll that question around in my mind. Why do we pray? Why do I pray?

Personally, I’m not so sure God changes events in the way some people seem to believe. I’m not sure if God heals our physical bodies or stops us from crashing our car in the rain or moves tornados from a particular path, although I know people pray for those types of situations (and have even done it myself).

My experience is that through the Holy Spirit, God is able to provide peace, wisdom, patience, perseverance, and other similar things. For example, I often pray that God would “multiply my time”. And even though I know it isn’t literally happening that way, I find that I have focus where I didn’t before or wisdom in responding to people that I wouldn’t have had otherwise. I can’t quantify it but I know that those things aren’t coming from me; they’re coming from the piece of God that’s in me.

These days I often question God’s work in the world. In fact, I sometimes question whether God is at work in the world or whether God is waiting for us do the work. I suppose it might be a bit of both. And if God is working – through us or through some supernatural intervention – why would God choose not to work in the lives of deserving people who are hurting despite the faith of a million mustard seeds.

But in my questioning I’ve also discovered that, despite all evidence to the contrary, I do believe God answers my prayers. It’s just that sometimes (or probably almost all of the time) I’m asking for the wrong thing.

I guess it’s kind of like this: If I go into a shoe store and I ask every clerk for a new coat, I would feel like no one was providing what I need. Because that’s not what clerks at a shoe store provide. So when I turn to the Holy Spirit and pray for my best friend to stop being a jerk, I might feel like God isn’t answering my prayer. Because that’s not what God provides. But if I instead ask for patience, wisdom and clarity, I find that most often my prayers are answered, because that’s what God does provide.

I have always been a relatively healthy person and have never had to deal with any kind of chronic pain. But I doubt that I could do it with the grace and patience of my friend. Every email, every hospital text message, every plea for prayer she’s sent has included equal amounts of praise for what God is doing in her life. I’m constantly astounded at the joy that is in her heart, even while disease is in her body. Her living testimony is a complicated, compassionate reminder that God is a mystery to me.

I pray for her almost every single day. And they are complicated, compassionate prayers. But through them, God reminds me that he is a complicated, compassionate God.

Sometimes in the storehouse of God’s resources, I am desperately seeking a coat – to cover myself or those I love in new layers of protection; to weather the winds with a custom made, rain proof exterior. Perhaps though, God provides me something else: a new pair of shoes to support me through the storm; that in all things I might first be standing in his love.

And what girl can’t use a new pair of shoes.

What about you? How have you experienced God at work in your life? How has God been responding to your prayers or laments?

Missing the Mark

A few months ago when I restructured my blog, I decided on a short description that runs along the top of the page. It reads: “Thoughts on living a life of faith in a world of doubt.” Arriving at those dozen or so words was a singularly important step toward the renewal of my blog project.

The reality of a world that is often discouraging and exhausting, bumping up against the idea of a faith that promises renewal and rest is a fascinating convergence to me. Those moments of collision inform my writing, both what you see and all the scraps that never make it.

I try not to make any false claims that I am actually living a model life of faith just that I am attempting to write from a perspective of faith. By doing so, I have found a means of spiritual renewal, a sort of forced transparency about how I am living my life and how I am experiencing the world in general.

But these days, I’m having a hard time living up to my mission.

In my writing, my goal has been to err on the side of forgiveness and on the side of uncertainty. It was never my purpose to tell anyone how things absolutely must be because I simply have no authority. I can speak my truth, but I can’t—and quite honestly don’t want to—speak anyone else’s.

My life, however, has taken a decidedly different turn. I constantly find myself atop the soapbox, demeaning the views and skills of those around me. I am angry often; edging on always. I seem to have forgotten my own mission in some desperate, misguided attempt at redirecting those around me.

So here is today’s thought on living a life of faith in a world of doubt. It’s hard. And it kind of sucks.

When have you found yourself missing the mark?

rainbows.

I'm spending this week at God's Treasures Camp on the shores of Lake Huron. (You can read more about the camp here.) As I prepared last night with the rest of the counselors and staff, we practiced with the colored bells that I'll be using with the campers. Immediately my mind went back to the story below; this was originally posted on June 19, 2008.

My friend Megan goes to the same church as me. Every Thursday night, from September to June, I have dinner with Megan and her mom. It’s a high-point of my week and when I’m with them, I feel blessed and loved and understood. Megan is five years old and she has autism.

We met when Megan was two and her mom would bring her to a store where I worked. In those first days, Megan was in a stroller and couldn’t walk on her own. She had no verbal skills and would almost never make eye contact. She was in her own world and had very few bridges to let others in.

Megan and I have come a long way from those days. We now see each other at church instead of the mall and Megan walks and talks and makes connections with lots of people. She still has trouble making eye contact and needs a reminder to use her words but from those first days of our friendship—she is a different child.

Along this path we’ve walked together I have been so blessed by this little girl who is truly a friend. Megan has taught me the truth of unexpected, undeserved, and truly unconditional, love. Not because of how I have come to love her, but because of how she has loved me.

In the beginning and still in many ways to this day, Megan thinks highly of only three people—her mom, her first teacher, and me. For no reason what-so-ever, Megan took it upon herself to love me. And no one loves as an autistic child loves. With Megan I am invited into a new world. A world that exists inside and around and throughout this mundane world that everyone else sees.

In this world there are mysteries around every corner. In this world, green is a magic and wonderful and most beautiful color and it should be on every surface we can possibly touch. In this world there should always be frosting and no cake. In this world, chocolate is made out of moon sand and a broken lightbulb is as dire and distressing as a broken heart.

With Megan I eat tacos from the inside out and bananas from the bottom down. And I watercolor just to color water.

Megan has given me tools I never knew I needed. I’ve learned to embrace my life in a way that I didn’t do before her and couldn’t do without her. Through my friendship with Megan and her mom, I have met other children with autism. And I have begun to open my eyes to the beauty of God’s creation. A beauty that makes itself known in tubs full of lima beans and rice and in purple shaving cream.

Today I sat in a circle with seven of these children—my new friends—and watched them making music with colored bells. After the last resounding chorus a tiny voice reached up from next to me and whispered, that sound was a rainbow. It was the best secret I’ve ever been told.