I hope I got your name right. There are so many choices, from so many traditions. During my upbringing, I learned to use God. I’ve tried other honorifics over the years but God is the one that I keep coming back to. It probably doesn’t matter to you what name is used when someone communicates with you. You probably only care about the act of communication itself.
Which is why I’m writing. It’s been a while, yeah. It’s been even longer if you characterize my communications as public versus private. Usually I’m not up for the public sort of spiritual salutation; most of the time I prefer to keep my feelings and beliefs to myself. In fact, I bet the last time I reached out to you publicly was during some sort of elementary school event or class. I can’t remember anything specific but, if you are really what I was taught during my youth, you do. It would be a kindness to me though not to be reminded about that last socially-exposed greeting. I was much more sincere during those days.
Oh, I’m still sincere now – just in a different way. And with a different frequency. I have lots of genuine emotions, really. There are plenty of core values and beliefs. They just sometimes get all jumbled about, if I’m being honest. Like a ball of tangled yarn, it feels too intimidating to take hold of the one frayed end poking out from the messy snarl and tug. My pull could only just make the ball condense into a tighter mass. It’s not very likely that everything will simply relax open.
Except – I’ve been having these experiences. With you. Life isn’t always smooth, for anyone, including me. I’m luckier than most, I see that, but I still find myself in situations of late that I’d prefer not to sort out alone. And so I’ve been asking you for help, either directly or, more frequently, through some people who hopefully have your ear: my parents and other deceased family members and friends. Funny how comfortable it feels to ask Mom to help me out. Less funny – actually downright unnerving – how she sometimes is able to do that. The signs are so very clear. I say a prayer. I ask Mom, Dad, Uncle Mike, Aunt Daisy, or any of a host of memorable people who I figure have earned the right to ask for a favor or two and, more often than I deserve, I get a reply.
Not everything gets fixed, no. But help, or sometimes simply comfort, is extended.
I’m too private a person to share many examples; it would be too humiliating to admit to all the things that I find myself praying for. Which is why I should admit to them. And why I think I should write to you now and share a note of thanks for at least one. I’m not a very humble person: the ego, the thing that Mom once told me was a human being’s greatest challenge, it whispers inside me that I am humble, a gathering wellspring of grounded diffidence, respect, and (dare I acknowledge it) wisdom. It tells me that I have a voice that should be shared. It makes me feel important to write this blog.
You and I know otherwise. I’m neither humble, wise, or respectful. I’m just a sometimes frightened almost sixty year-old man who wants to feel part of something outside himself, a man who often confuses experiences of the whole as successes of the self.
My soul was bare the other day though. Perhaps in consideration of the urging from some angelic assistants, you had helped my family during a difficult time. With a true desire to say ‘thank you’, I stepped into a non-denominational chapel, sat in the front row, and silently opened my heart. Surrounded by diverse symbols of religious faith and spiritual life, I focused on one that I’ve not given much attention to in years: the cross. My mind turned off. My spirit reached out. My lips formed the words “I believe”.
I absolutely admit to having felt a bit ashamed. It’s easy to believe when things turn out well. Nonetheless, I still felt thankful, and hopeful, and filling with belief. I told you. And then I asked for help getting past myself. I asked for faith to trust in your will, the will of the whole, the will of what would be and not at what I might want to be. And I smiled at one of my recent conceits – my role and responsibility concerning a potentially large work-related project. I’ll accept your guidance, I mentally murmured.
There was one person you could have placed in my life path at that moment to tell me your will about that project. That person was not in my mind whatsoever when I left the chapel. That person had no reason to be anywhere near the exit from the chapel. That person was suddenly standing in front of me when I turned from closing the chapel door.
Hello, God. Thanks for letting me write. Thanks for always listening. I’ll try to become a better communicator.