A friend told me she couldn’t pull herself out of a helpless state. I told her how she’d not forgotten how to pray, just forgotten to be honest with God.
Told her to rest, to lay it all down before her body catches up with her desperately despaired and depleted mind.
I’d find it odd, were it not for my belief. The way all paths cross, an exchanging of grace.
Yesterday, I prayed.
I moved from ten feet or so as I stood unable to not move. I’d not considered need, felt it in ways it could not be made numb and found myself desperate to let my anxieties be known.
And if you think of it, the need to let go, to tell, to unburden the heart in reply to invitation to move.
It is such a small thing that leads to mighty owning up to.
Now, I’m not one to be prompted to move. The whole force and demand or prayer like hitting knees for show in the sanctuary.
This is not a thing I do, in fact I reject, resist the demand. I’m aware of the human need for attention, for embrace, I’ll not find fault.
Everyone fights a hard battle, carries a secret sorrow.
But, I took those ten or so feet and I said to my pastor who’d sensed my struggle, his eyes finding the search behind my attentive gaze and he met me with his strong hand on my shoulder.
I said. “I need to surrender my writing to God.”
“Yes” he said and I couldn’t see his face, both of us bent down together.
But, I felt his “Yes.” more than hearing or seeing could ever equate.
He prayed and then said “It’s going to be fine.”
And I turned to return to my place on the pew, thinking what a thing to say; It’s going to be fine.
It’s going to be fine. My eyes are moist upon remembering.
Today, I discovered my words noticed by another, shared as a Featured writer, my piece on contentment.
I felt what I am lately calling an exchange of grace, of fine things.
In quiet confidence is my strength. Isaiah 30:15