Sara hadn’t really expected an answer to her question, so she was startled when she heard a voice call out, “I’m here!”
“Who’s there?” Sarah squinted through the dim light thinking perhaps the church custodian was working in the sanctuary this evening.
“I’m here!” the voice came again.
“Yes, I know.” Sara responded, somewhat impatient now. It had taken a lot for her to come here tonight to pray. She had first to find the courage and motivation. Then she had to find a babysitter. She was irritated at the thought that she might not have the privacy she had been craving for her prayer time Sara continued, “But who are you? Is there someone else using the sanctuary tonight?”
“Sarah.”
That’s all the voice said, but Sara knew immediately whose voice it was. In the past she had only known this voice as one that spoke softly in her heart or in the imagination of her mind. But this, this was a real and audible voice she was hearing in her ears. This was the voice of God, with whom she used to share her deepest needs. Shaken, Sara asked, “God? Is that really you?”
“Yes, Sara. I’m here. What’s on your mind?”
“Umm….,” Sara wondered if this was really happening to her. Or was she finally breaking under all the stress she had been experiencing lately? O well, what have I got to lose? Sara said to herself. Then aloud she answered, “Pastor Rick says I need to tell you how angry I am with You.”
“O.K. Go ahead.”
Sara sighed. “It’s not that simple. I mean, I’m not feeling particularly angry today.”
“What are you feeling, Sara?” the Voice inquired.
“I’m tired. Sad. Quiet. Different. And kind of empty, too.
There was a pause before the voice of God responded. “Tell me about “empty.”
As Sara sat down in one of the pews the light that illuminated the stain-glass cross above the altar each evening at dusk came on. Shadows were lengthening. The room was taking on a mood of deep peace. Sara reflected on how she had been feeling the last couple of days and what she really wanted of God to know now that she had His attention. Then she said, “It’s like…if I’m going to leave all this garbage from the past behind and not let it control me any longer, that’s good, right?”
“I should think so,” God replied with a smile in His voice.
“But without it, I’m empty. I don’t know what else there is anymore. Pain and confusion have been so much a part of my life for so long. I just feel completely unsettled. It’s very strange. I want to move on. I fell like I am on the verge of something really exciting and positive, but it is still out of my reach.”
“And why,” God asked gently, “would that be?”
A little more timidly Sara answered, “Maybe there is some unfinished business I need to care for.”
“Ah, and what might that be?”
“Well, I don’t think it’s about John’s death. He’s been gone now for over five years. I still miss him everyday. I miss him a lot, but I’m learning how to be both mom and dad to the kids. I’ve given the guilt and anger about that one over to you. Remember?
Sara felt the voice of God embrace her, like a father holding a cherished child, “I remember. It was a wise choice.”
Sara held onto that embrace for a long moment. It had been so long since she had felt this close to God.
“So, what is the unfinished business?” the voice of God prompted in Sara’s ear.
Mentally, Sara reviewed the last seven years of her life. She was still young, but felt decades older than her years. First, Sara and John learned that their three year old did not just have a speech delay, but rather a speech disorder. She and John had learned that their son might never speak normally. Worse yet, the “experts” who had tested him believed him to be mentally retarded, though admittedly it was difficult to test a child who was essentially non-verbal.
While still reeling from this news, disaster struck the family when their home caught fire. John and the children had initially escaped safely. However, urged on by the children’s pleas and cries, John had run back into the burning structure to save the family pet, their black lab ironically named “Cinder.” Cinder perished in the fire and John died at the hospital a few hours later.
Sara was left alone to bury her husband, rebuild her home and care for her grieving children. All the “business” associated with these losses had been cared for now. She and the children had built a new home with the insurance money she received from the fire. John’s life insurance kept them afloat for the first few years until Sara was ready to return to work. The children received John’s death benefit, and John Jr. was getting special services in school and private speech therapy after school. They even found a children’s grief support group that helped the kids and Sara all get through the first two years after the fire.
Finally, everything seemed to be going so well. So what was this “unfinished business” Sara felt so compelled to deal with?
“I think I have unfinished business with you,” Sara boldly announced to God.
“How so?”
Exasperated now, Sara wondered if it is God's way always to ask questions like this? “How so?” she began. “Where do I begin?” she exclaimed as the tears fell down her cheeks.
“Why are you crying, Sara?” God kept drawing her out. Tenderly. Gently.
“Because, I love you! I really do love you so much! And I feel like you betrayed me!” Sara felt her insides churning now with the release she had needed for so many months. “How could you let all this happen to me? I KNOW you love me. How could you let me be hurt like this? How could you let John die in such a horrible way? He loved you, too! Doesn’t that count for anything? Didn’t you know I need him? The kids need their Daddy! Even after John Jr’s diagnosis we were happy. We were willing to trust you. We did nothing, NOTHING to deserve this! I never smoked or drank when I was pregnant. Why couldn’t I just have a normal life with my husband and children? How am I supposed to trust you now? How am I supposed to believe you really care?”
“Oh, my child, I do care. I love you.”
Still churned up, Sara shouted, “I KNOW that, but is that all you have to say?”
“There was a time you would have said my love was enough.”
In her agitation, Sara had risen from the pew and started pacing up and down the aisle. Now she stopped at the front of the sanctuary and fell to her knees. “I know that, too. My head knows it, but my heart has been shattered into a million pieces. How do I get my heart to believe again?”
“Sara”, God spoke her name again. Be patient, dry your tears. Listen. There are no magic answers for your pain. Everything that has happened to cause you so much grief has caused me grief also. I cried with you. I touched your brow with starlight to remind you that you were not alone. I put blocks on your memory, not to frustrate and confuse you about those last moments with John, but to protect you from the pain of those memories. I never left your side. I was there when you turned onto your street and saw the fire trucks at your home. I was with you when you hugged your children close in gratitude, and I was there when you realized John was not with them. I was also with John when the smoke and heat burned his lungs. I heard his last prayer for you and the children when he knew he would not get out of the house on his own.”
“I was there when you could do nothing but stroke his cheek. I was there when you held your children close and sobbed out your despair. All of your hearts were breaking, and mine broke, too. But I was proud because I knew how it was you had learned to love so deeply that it could feel like a part of you was dying, too.
“I was there when John Jr. was conceived and I assure you he was not a mistake. I was there when you nursed him and baptized him and held his hands to take his first steps. I was there when you learned about his disability.”
“There are no simple answers. There is no magic to erase your pain. There is only you and me, together, in love and in trust, today and one day at a time from now on.”
Quietly, Sara said, “It does help, Lord, to hear these things. I still feel so alone sometimes, though. I really don’t think anyone understands what I’ve been through. What it is like to live with this pain for so long. Not even my parents or my siblings. They care, but they don’t understand.
“Your right,” the voice of God answered. “Some people don’t understand. They’ve never been through anything like this. Reach out to the ones who do care and are able to support you. You don’t have to judge the others for their lack of understanding. But you can choose the healthiest and most helpful relationships to get through the tough times. And know this: Whatever the future holds, I will never leave you or forsake you.”
Sara stood. With her eyes lifted toward the cross she said, “I want more than anything to believe that. I know you’ve there every step of the way. I know that now in my head and my heart. Lord, I can only say that I want to trust You, and I’m willing to try. I’m willing to take this one day at a time, trying to trust you with all my day-to-day fears and worries. I will try to entrust to you the lives of the people I love. Just please be patient with me. Sometimes I feel there am two of me. You know, I feel kind of schizophrenic or something. There’s the spiritual me that is so assured of your love, so confident that I belong to you and always have. I’m so full of love and praise that at times I think I could burst. Then there’s the part of me that acts as if I am my own God; master and controller of my own life and destiny. If I don’t fix it or I can’t make them happy, then no one will. Instead of being the beautiful person you created me to be, I’m a sorry mess; confused, unhappy and trying to be whatever the person I’m with at the moment expects me to be or needs me to be. I want to change. Please help me.”
“I love the spirit and honesty of that prayer, Sara,” God replied. “And I’ll do even more than you have asked. Each day, one day at a time, give it all to me. Trust me. I will continue to grow you into the beautiful person you are to Me. This will be our covenant. Together, in loving relationship, we’ll find that peace you seek.”
Bluntly, Sara said, “I’ll fail sometimes.”
“I know. It’s OK. I won’t leave you. We’ll start over again. Just don’t give up. Practice what you preach! Never give in to despair. Never, ever give up hope. Don’t lose your self-control or strike out in anger.”
“I know, Lord. I felt really awful the other night when I lashed out at Pastor at the Board meeting.
“Exactly the way you should have felt.”
“Ouch!”
“The point is,” God continued, “don’t give up and don’t give in. Don’t let your fleeting and fluctuating emotions control you. Yield your willingness to Me and My control. Learn the self-control that comes from Me alone and is the mark of a godly woman. Just hang on tight and make the most of each day.”
Sara remembered when she was in college and Grammy died. Sara’s grandmother had been her best friend growing up. Grammy’s sudden death rocked Sara’s world. She was physically ill with her grief and almost passed out walking to class one day. Prayer was Sara’s answer then, too. Her own prayers and the prayers of her friends and family had brought her through that crisis.
“God,” Sara said. “I remember a long time ago when I was very sad and scared after Grammy died. I promised you that no matter how far I fell or how badly I might be wounded I would hang on to your hand so tight and never let go. I want to make that promise again.”
God answered, “And I promised that, like the Loving Father I am, I would stop, care for your skinned knee—or broken heart—wipe the tears from your eyes and we would go on together, hand in hand. I renew that promise to you. Nothing can come between us---if you will trust me.
Sara stood. “I’m still scared, Lord, but I’m ready. Take my hand. Let’s take the next step together.
“I’m right here.”
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