Thy Will Be Done
It should come as no surprise to anyone that I’ve been praying a lot lately. When things are bad, I suspect we all pray more than we normally would. I do the morning prayer from the Book of Common Prayer, and I’ve picked up praying the rosary too (which is a different story altogether).
Common to both of these, and Christendom universally, is the Lord’s Prayer, “Our Father, who art in heaven…” We pray it so often, that we’ve pretty much become immune, I think, to listening to what it has to say. At least I did. I’ve said the prayer 7 or 8 times today alone; maybe more.
But in the middle of crying jag (which I have almost daily right now), a clear word thundered into my head, “Thy will be done.” I stopped, thought, and cried some more, this time for a completely different reason.
Up til now, I’ve been grieving the loss of most what I had called my life; my marriage, my husband, my home, soon my job. Other things as well.
But this word to me reminded me that everything I’ve been praying for, hoping for, wanting to get back - all of it - was an attempt to make things the way I wanted them to be. It never occurred to me before that maybe I’d been praying the wrong thing all along.
Not my will, you see, but Thy will be done.
It’s hard to get clarity in the middle of grief, but this one was loud and clear. I’ve been mourning the loss of so much that I used to have. It never occurred to me to think about what might really be in the future. To believe that it might be better.
Or in other words, to trust that God knew/ or knows what He’s doing. (if God makes you uncomfortable here, insert Goddess/ Higher Power/ the Universe, whatever works for you, you get the idea).
That word to me was a spotlight beamed down into my soul and finding no faith there.
No trust that God had any idea what He was doing.
No faith that the future might in fact be better than the past.
No faith that God transforms all things for good to those who believe.
In short, I had no faith.
Having spent the past 35+ years in Christian churches of some kind or another, and wrestling with so many difficult situation and issues, it came as a complete surprise to realize this:
I don’t trust God.
It’s easy, I think, to trust God when things are good. I think we trust Him so much, we get kind of forgetful about Him. It’s like a verse my friend Matthew posted a little while ago:
I’ve been praying all right, but I wasn’t paying attention. I was honoring Him with my prayers and songs; but my heart was far away.
It was a shock to discover. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t reassuring.
This is not to say that I don’t have faith in God. But when it comes down to the nitty-gritty of life, I know that I don’t trust that God knows what He’s doing. I mean, it’s my life, not his. He’s off “In his heaven/ and all’s (not quite) right in the world.”
I mean, Can God be trusted?
My current situation would tell me No Way, that God’s a mad man in Heaven with way too much power. But that’s just how it feels. When everything in life falls apart, it’s hard to trust God. It’s hard to do much of anything. And in the midst of grief, even harder.
But our pain, our grief, our suffering is only part of the situation. Yes, things are terrible; but the day will come when they aren’t. When you (meaning I) reassemble a new life from the ashes of the old, in exactly the same way the phoenix does (a symbol that seems to be becoming increasingly relevant these days).
I’d quite forgotten that. I don’t think I can be blamed for losing sight of it. Still, I know now; and it’s really hard to say that I have NO idea what God is doing, but I do trust that He knows what He’s doing. That’s a bitter pill to swallow. Does He though? I’m not interested in getting into a theological debate about anything here, it was just a surprising revelation to me.
In truth, trusting God is an issue I come up against again and again and again in my life. I think quite a number of years ago I blogged about another instance where I realized I didn’t trust Him. It’s easy to give lip service to the idea; but when everything’s gone to hell, it’s exponentially harder. And I've never seen anything like this ever.
So what to do, right? Well, knowing is half the battle. Knowing that my faith and trust are lacking is at least a starting point. I’m not going to have faith to move mountains any time soon, either. What I can do, however, is start right back at the very beginning and say, “I believe, help my unbelief.”
You’ve got to start somewhere.
Common to both of these, and Christendom universally, is the Lord’s Prayer, “Our Father, who art in heaven…” We pray it so often, that we’ve pretty much become immune, I think, to listening to what it has to say. At least I did. I’ve said the prayer 7 or 8 times today alone; maybe more.
But in the middle of crying jag (which I have almost daily right now), a clear word thundered into my head, “Thy will be done.” I stopped, thought, and cried some more, this time for a completely different reason.
Up til now, I’ve been grieving the loss of most what I had called my life; my marriage, my husband, my home, soon my job. Other things as well.
But this word to me reminded me that everything I’ve been praying for, hoping for, wanting to get back - all of it - was an attempt to make things the way I wanted them to be. It never occurred to me before that maybe I’d been praying the wrong thing all along.
Not my will, you see, but Thy will be done.
It’s hard to get clarity in the middle of grief, but this one was loud and clear. I’ve been mourning the loss of so much that I used to have. It never occurred to me to think about what might really be in the future. To believe that it might be better.
Or in other words, to trust that God knew/ or knows what He’s doing. (if God makes you uncomfortable here, insert Goddess/ Higher Power/ the Universe, whatever works for you, you get the idea).
That word to me was a spotlight beamed down into my soul and finding no faith there.
No trust that God had any idea what He was doing.
No faith that the future might in fact be better than the past.
No faith that God transforms all things for good to those who believe.
In short, I had no faith.
Having spent the past 35+ years in Christian churches of some kind or another, and wrestling with so many difficult situation and issues, it came as a complete surprise to realize this:
I don’t trust God.
It’s easy, I think, to trust God when things are good. I think we trust Him so much, we get kind of forgetful about Him. It’s like a verse my friend Matthew posted a little while ago:
I’ve been praying all right, but I wasn’t paying attention. I was honoring Him with my prayers and songs; but my heart was far away.
It was a shock to discover. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t reassuring.
This is not to say that I don’t have faith in God. But when it comes down to the nitty-gritty of life, I know that I don’t trust that God knows what He’s doing. I mean, it’s my life, not his. He’s off “In his heaven/ and all’s (not quite) right in the world.”
I mean, Can God be trusted?
My current situation would tell me No Way, that God’s a mad man in Heaven with way too much power. But that’s just how it feels. When everything in life falls apart, it’s hard to trust God. It’s hard to do much of anything. And in the midst of grief, even harder.
But our pain, our grief, our suffering is only part of the situation. Yes, things are terrible; but the day will come when they aren’t. When you (meaning I) reassemble a new life from the ashes of the old, in exactly the same way the phoenix does (a symbol that seems to be becoming increasingly relevant these days).
I’d quite forgotten that. I don’t think I can be blamed for losing sight of it. Still, I know now; and it’s really hard to say that I have NO idea what God is doing, but I do trust that He knows what He’s doing. That’s a bitter pill to swallow. Does He though? I’m not interested in getting into a theological debate about anything here, it was just a surprising revelation to me.
In truth, trusting God is an issue I come up against again and again and again in my life. I think quite a number of years ago I blogged about another instance where I realized I didn’t trust Him. It’s easy to give lip service to the idea; but when everything’s gone to hell, it’s exponentially harder. And I've never seen anything like this ever.
So what to do, right? Well, knowing is half the battle. Knowing that my faith and trust are lacking is at least a starting point. I’m not going to have faith to move mountains any time soon, either. What I can do, however, is start right back at the very beginning and say, “I believe, help my unbelief.”
You’ve got to start somewhere.