Desperation
Friday, September 7, 2007
I feel overwhelmed with the endless roadblocks in our life. I want to know how to navigate through feelings of hopelessness, grief, abandonment, fear.
I know faith isn't the same thing as denial, but why is it that they look strangely alike? Am I supposed to look the other way when circumstances, odds, systems, etc, seem against us? How can I believe God will work this all out? It's getting harder and harder to trust the tiniest little signs of hope. They seem microscopic. Am I just imagining that the butterfly floating in front of me (at the very moment that I am hoping for a debt-forgiven life) is a sign that things will get better? How long will I need to cling to the seemingly more significant "signs" and "stories" of other people's lives? Because, it's only in other people's lives that I can see God moving.
I feel like the earth has opened up and is sucking my family into a gaping crevice and there's nothing anyone can do. All the amazing programs in the world can't help, friends and family can only help to a point, and people who don't know us certainly aren't inspired to bring relief. I lift my eyes to the "mountains" from where my help is supposed to come and it's not there.
It's inspiring to see a whole community rallying round my friend whose husband has cancer. It's amazing. They have people giving them money for medicine. Others are bringing meals, taking care of their kids, praying for them on a regular basis. And I certainly don't want to compare my struggles to a life with cancer, but it's similar in the sense that my family's needs are more than we can carry solo. We need help. I'm not afraid to say it. We can't do this alone.
But, I feel so alone. And I'm uncomfortable marketing my needs. I don't think God wants me to "advertise." I'm trying to be real with my friends and people with whom I feel safe. I've never been a big secret keeper.
Where can I turn, Lord? I feel lost, unworthy, desperate.
I know faith isn't the same thing as denial, but why is it that they look strangely alike? Am I supposed to look the other way when circumstances, odds, systems, etc, seem against us? How can I believe God will work this all out? It's getting harder and harder to trust the tiniest little signs of hope. They seem microscopic. Am I just imagining that the butterfly floating in front of me (at the very moment that I am hoping for a debt-forgiven life) is a sign that things will get better? How long will I need to cling to the seemingly more significant "signs" and "stories" of other people's lives? Because, it's only in other people's lives that I can see God moving.
I feel like the earth has opened up and is sucking my family into a gaping crevice and there's nothing anyone can do. All the amazing programs in the world can't help, friends and family can only help to a point, and people who don't know us certainly aren't inspired to bring relief. I lift my eyes to the "mountains" from where my help is supposed to come and it's not there.
It's inspiring to see a whole community rallying round my friend whose husband has cancer. It's amazing. They have people giving them money for medicine. Others are bringing meals, taking care of their kids, praying for them on a regular basis. And I certainly don't want to compare my struggles to a life with cancer, but it's similar in the sense that my family's needs are more than we can carry solo. We need help. I'm not afraid to say it. We can't do this alone.
But, I feel so alone. And I'm uncomfortable marketing my needs. I don't think God wants me to "advertise." I'm trying to be real with my friends and people with whom I feel safe. I've never been a big secret keeper.
Where can I turn, Lord? I feel lost, unworthy, desperate.
You are a woman of faith, my dear friend. I learn and grow and am amazed as I watch you wrestle, honor and love God.
Peace and Joy to you and yours,
Sal
I love reading your blog, Cher. I'm struck with the honest intensity of it.
As I've been reading the blog, I've also been rereading some Madeleine L'Engle poems. This one seemed to capture some of the quixotically personal feelings you've been sharing.
WE MAKE BOLD TO SAY . . .
When I was very little my father
used t toss me up in the air
and I would laugh and crow with delight
knowing that his outstretched arms
were there to receive me, that he would
never let me fall.
You have thrown me up into the coldness
beyond the galaxies. Your wild wind
blows me. Where are your hands
to catch me as I fall?
When I was very little my father
would sometimes come sit with me
at tea time. We had a game. Carefully
I would eat my egg out of its shell
and then put the shell, upside down, back
in the egg cup, and he, ferocious, would
say, "Eat your egg at once!" and
together
we would open it and laugh in joy
at the empty shell.
Why has the egg turned to a
scorpion in my hand"?
When I was very little my father
took me to watch the fishermen
pull in their nets leaping with silver
and he told me stories of wales and
other
great fish and of ships and storms and of those
who were fishers of men.
Why is the serpent allowed to continue
spitting seductive poison in my ear?
When I was very little my father
would sometimes come in the splendor
of his white tie and tails to say me good-night
and he woud let me hold the silkiness
of his top hat. He had one that
opened and shut with a sound like a shot
and this was laughter and joy, and when he left
there was always a crack of light
to shine through the bedroom door.
O father of all fathers
who takes from me the strength of words
and the comfort of images
I am alone in th dark and afraid.
Cher, the poem reminded me of your, "I look to the hills . . ." So raw and honest and true.
I know and trust that God will meet you and our girl, Madeleine, in the barren, open place of Truth.
Loving you,
Sal