Thoughts and Prayers
There have only been a few times in my life that I have actually--at least in my mind--truly felt God's presence.
Once after a fight with Jason when he was high, irrational, irate. Somehow I was the one who ended up on the living room couch, crying myself to sleep, my eyes frantically scanning the blank walls, as if to find some answer hidden in the drywall. I was sobbing and filled with questions no one could answer for me. Why is this happening to me? What can I do? Where will I go? Where will I live? How do I escape this? When do I wake up? When will this be over? Suddenly, through the bouts of confusion, I found peace in the darkness of that living room. I wasn't going to find an answer, my consciousness told me. Not today. Maybe eventually, but not tonight. Tonight I would sleep, and tomorrow would be a better day. I will never forget the immediate peace I felt in those words spoken by my own inner voice. I exhaled. I found a blanket at the bottom of my feet, curled up there on the couch, alone, and slept through the night. For me: a small miracle.
The second time was a similar situation. A similar night of restlessness and confusion, this time in the darkness of my bedroom. It was a few days after hearing about Jason's death. Again, more questions without answers, and again, an immediate peace, when in my own voice I heard, "He knew that you could handle this." Somehow that was all I needed to hear. It was then that I realized, for some reason, this really was all meant to be. I was exactly where I should be, and I had done exactly what I was supposed to do. It all seemed to be apart of some greater plan that I wasn't meant to fully understand yet.
The most recent time happened this Saturday. I was driving home from Ocean City, some inspirational music setting the mood. One of the songs reminded me of family members and loved ones I've lost, "Maybe in Heaven there's a Finleyville..." By the song's finale, tears were streaming down my face. Remembering Nana's smile, the smell of Granny's kitchen. As I continued to listen to the following tracks, I cried harder and harder, but not because I was still reminiscing about lost loved ones, but because I realized that I still have a personal connection with my God, that he has always been there, that all I needed to do was open my heart again. I was actually crying tears of joy, because in that moment, for the first time in years, I felt truly whole.
For me, feeling whole can't be accomplished through a physical closeness with someone else, although I've been mistaken and have felt that way before. Feeling whole is something I accomplish on my own, when I let my higher power work through my own conscience. It happens when I'm willing to wait and listen.
I'm starting to realize that there's no reason why I can't go back to being as spiritual as I was before. When I was young, I was full of faith and hope. Years of life experiences tore me from that faith. But those same life experiences helped me to discover my own personal understanding, so, in a way, those life experiences were blessings. It just took me some 10 years to realize it.
Once after a fight with Jason when he was high, irrational, irate. Somehow I was the one who ended up on the living room couch, crying myself to sleep, my eyes frantically scanning the blank walls, as if to find some answer hidden in the drywall. I was sobbing and filled with questions no one could answer for me. Why is this happening to me? What can I do? Where will I go? Where will I live? How do I escape this? When do I wake up? When will this be over? Suddenly, through the bouts of confusion, I found peace in the darkness of that living room. I wasn't going to find an answer, my consciousness told me. Not today. Maybe eventually, but not tonight. Tonight I would sleep, and tomorrow would be a better day. I will never forget the immediate peace I felt in those words spoken by my own inner voice. I exhaled. I found a blanket at the bottom of my feet, curled up there on the couch, alone, and slept through the night. For me: a small miracle.
The second time was a similar situation. A similar night of restlessness and confusion, this time in the darkness of my bedroom. It was a few days after hearing about Jason's death. Again, more questions without answers, and again, an immediate peace, when in my own voice I heard, "He knew that you could handle this." Somehow that was all I needed to hear. It was then that I realized, for some reason, this really was all meant to be. I was exactly where I should be, and I had done exactly what I was supposed to do. It all seemed to be apart of some greater plan that I wasn't meant to fully understand yet.
The most recent time happened this Saturday. I was driving home from Ocean City, some inspirational music setting the mood. One of the songs reminded me of family members and loved ones I've lost, "Maybe in Heaven there's a Finleyville..." By the song's finale, tears were streaming down my face. Remembering Nana's smile, the smell of Granny's kitchen. As I continued to listen to the following tracks, I cried harder and harder, but not because I was still reminiscing about lost loved ones, but because I realized that I still have a personal connection with my God, that he has always been there, that all I needed to do was open my heart again. I was actually crying tears of joy, because in that moment, for the first time in years, I felt truly whole.
For me, feeling whole can't be accomplished through a physical closeness with someone else, although I've been mistaken and have felt that way before. Feeling whole is something I accomplish on my own, when I let my higher power work through my own conscience. It happens when I'm willing to wait and listen.
I'm starting to realize that there's no reason why I can't go back to being as spiritual as I was before. When I was young, I was full of faith and hope. Years of life experiences tore me from that faith. But those same life experiences helped me to discover my own personal understanding, so, in a way, those life experiences were blessings. It just took me some 10 years to realize it.