Connecting with God has looked a bit different for me the last few months. Some things have stayed the same; weekly times to journal have been vital in terms of self-reflection and talking to God, while daily prayer times tend to be more terse (this has been my spiritual rhythm since the advent of my kids). The overall feel, though, very much has been that I'm going through "the valley of the shadow of death", and in that place, God is present but not necessarily immediately seen or felt. I know He's with me, but in the same way you might know the road ahead of you is there as you drive through fog.
The one time each week the fog seems to lift has been during communion on Sunday mornings. At our church, communion is sort of a free-for-all; any time during the last set of worship, people can go by themselves or in pairs to take communion and go pray. Pretty much every Sunday morning in the last 3 1/2 months, I've spent that whole time of worship kneeling in front of a cross in our church, praying and crying. For some reason, that time of prayer is when I'm able to connect most directly with God. It's been a combination of mourning, being angry, asking questions, and hearing back from the Lord about what's been going on for me.
It's also been a fairly solitary experience, some of which has been hard for me as Midi's death has brought up a deep loneliness for me. But some of that seems appropriate, too. I need to hear what God wants to say to me, not what someone else thinks. And as I read today in Nicholas Wolterstorff's Lament for a Son, "Each person's suffering has its own quality. No outsider can fully enter into it." Those times of communion have been a sacred time for God and I to connect, for him to meet me in my suffering in a way that probably no one else ever could.
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3 comments:
Anne - thanks for this post. It's good to read about the significance of communion for you - it seems so good and right for God to meet you at the table that he set for his followers.
Anne,
You are in my thoughts and prayers. I have not been able to read your blog in a while due to busy-ness with my health and care for my grandparents-- I don't know that I ever got the chance to tell you that in February when my grandmother was hospitalized they have given us 3-6 months to be with her. While she is with us I have spent every day trying to spend as much time as possible with her, encouraging granddad, doing things for them, and together with them reminiscing about their 65 years together including reading through a huge stack of love letters from before they married and their time apart during WWII. The depth of their love staggers me, and the depth of the reality of the pending loss of grandmother and how it is already affecting my granddad-- the two dearest people in the world to me. I find myself wanting to preserve every moment, every momento, every thing I can of them and their love. It sounds like you are doing the same with Midi out of the depth of your love for her, and I appreciate that about you. God has blessed you my friend, even in your grief. I love you,
Desha
Anne, I was catching up on your blog just now. I think communion for me as will always bring up the memory of Midi and Nathan. I think the remembrance of Jesus' death until he comes again reminds me that I'll see her again that day as well, and it makes me glad but sad for the moment as well. Your posting on the tape of Midi's voice made me tear up. I remember her voice and laugh so clearly, and only hope I can hold onto those sounds and not forget them. Love to you and David, Tina Lee
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