Father,
You are the Master Architect
Engineering the events of my life,
Providing an opportunity for me
To rise to the occasion each and every day.
At times, Your leading seems clear,
While at others, it’s remote, appearing to be
So far away that I can’t find You,
Regardless of how hard I try.
Even when Your presence alludes me,
I know that You are there.
You are always guiding me—
Always present, always vigilant.
As my life becomes increasingly visible
And people occasionally look to me for guidance,
Let my life speak of what You have done—
Not by my words, which seem so inadequate,
And may appear to be petty, trite and shallow—
But by my actions, which are observable by all.
Oh, how I loathe the pompously religious—
Those with self-aggrandizing, arrogant, unyielding hearts.
May I never be like them—like those
Who talk of Your love and guidance,
While seeking an advantage over others
Who foolishly trust them completely.
Let my witness be viewed by my actions,
And not by my mellifluous tongue,
Which I know can be self-serving and serpentine.
Make me know Thy ways, O Lord; teach me Thy paths. Lead me in Ty truth and teach me, for Thou are the God of my salvation; For Thee I wait all the day. (Psalm 25:4-5)
Done my hard spiritual exercise today thanks to this prayer – these prayers go deep Jack. Thankyou – its like having a deep massage that really works on the sore spots : )
Hi Jack
In a way this is like a confession and you are my chosen confessor.
I wrote this reflection this morning as I am working on being Autherntic following your recent prayer post. It reminded me I want to be authentic and yet I quickly slip into old habits.
I go to a ladies luncheon prayer group once a fortnight and some of the ladies are nearly 80 years of age. Some of the former members have already died.
I love many of them dearly and have known some of them for many years. One lady has known me since I was a teenager and was a good friend to my mother so we are close enough to be unguarded with each other at times. Yesterday she smacked my hand whe I was reaching for a piece of bread as if I was a naughty child and it brought back some painful memories. I know her intentions were not malicious but they hit a raw nerve in me.
You can decide if this should be posted or not. For the sake of my own soul I need to be authenic even if it is just with you on this occasion. Here is my confession.
ON BEING CAST OUT (It can be the price of being authentic.)
Thursday, March 29, 2012
God was always real for me when I was a child.
God for me was like the reality of gravity. Or the truth the moon moves around the earth and the earth moves around the Sun. As a child I had no personal proof of it but believed those who told me what it was and that I could trust this knowledge as being true.
I was in my teens when I first realised my sense of God’s presence had gone.
I began to search for it and found I could not find it. Not in church, not in nature and not when I prayed. I even read my bible in the hope it would come back to no avail – it was gone and I was alone.
At thirteen years of age I began to really notice I was really feeling this absence deeply. I was mourning for it. I wondered how I had lost it. I had always assumed my sense of God’s presence was a given like my sense of smell or my sense of being real.
It was then I prayed as best I could and it went something like this. “God I don’t know if you are real but I am praying now because the bible teaches that this is how you hear me. If you are God you know the way to help me know you are really real. I am saying Amen because that seems to be important – I understand Amen means this I truly desire. Amen.”
Some years later I was at the Christmas Eve service in my local Anglican church. The words of the service I knew by heart seemed to be aimed directly at me. It was as if Jesus was using the people to speak to me personally. Through a curtain of unstoppable tears I knew God was real. I knew his presence once again. What a relief.
This knowledge was the beginning of my life long quest for understanding. I wanted to know when and how I lost my sense of God’s presence.
At 58 years of age I know there are lots of ways I can lose it. I live each day to try and maintain my sense of God’s presence. I try to keep it close to my conscious awareness at all times. I am now moving away from people and activities that diminish it. I love it so much.
Today when I woke up I recalled the day I was sexually abused at the age of 6. I recalled how much I loved and trusted the lady who abused me. Every day I do things she taught me that I still love.
I love dressing up. I love curlers and clothes. I love performing and being on stage. I love using makeup and colour to enhance an effect. It was the lady who molested me who introduced me to stage craft first. There were many others who taught me more but they were building on the foundation she had laid.
At the same time I am glad about these wonders that still delight me I am sad that the choice she made to molest me permanently damaged my relationship with everyone. By her choice I was cast into an inner darkness and left there all alone. I was a prisoner inside my own body because I no longer trusted it. I hated it.
For some 50 years one but God knew I was missing. I walked and talked and my body moved like anyone else’s but the part of me I call I was not there. I had abandoned my body as it had become a source of excruciating pain I could not endure. A pain I was only able to briefly face with God’s help and then I begged Him to take it away again.
Some years ago I read an article that said children had a defense reflex that could lead them to feinting when being sexually abused. That is why some children die while being molested. Their airways block and the abuser doesn’t notice it till it’s too late. I asked God to show me if that happened to me as I had a blackout memory for some of the time I was being molested.
For the briefest moment I felt the weight of my molester on my pelvis. My spine was partially dislocated and excruciating pain shot up my spine into my head. The pain became a crown on my head as if a crown of thorns was being pressed into it. It burned inot me like fire. I begged God to take my body memory away as I could not bear it. Thankfully God did.
To this day I still suffer the legacy of the damage to my body that was never detected at the time. It affects my ability to walk as my legs can go numb so I do remedial exercises every day to ensure I can do some walking.
With God’s patient help the inner me I know as the real me can talk. The persona I developed to manage this dysfunction knows how to open the door for my real inner me and take over when she can’t go on. She cries a lot when she tries to talk. Sometimes she is brave and just comes forward like yesterday – but she is unrecognized and often ignored so she retreats again like she did yesterday.
The lady sitting next to me at the table smacked my hand as if I was a naughty child when I took my third slice of bread. She chastised me saying “Dianne, what about your weight?” In an instant I was gone – back to my inner prison that has become my safe place where I know God can find me like he does every time this happens.
My body remained though and no one knew I had left the table.
I told my husband what had happened when he got home from work and he asked me “Why do you keep going to these lunches.” I sighed and answered “This lady cannot help herself – it’s like a reflex and she had done it on automatic.” You see this is not the first time this particular lady has done this to me and I know her intentions are well meaning from her point of view.
I strive to be authentic but it’s hard. I have a reflex reaction to the stress of any hint of rejection and I run away and hide while I am in the middle of a crowd and no one knows I have gone. This is the skill I learned when I was sexually abused.
As God said –“Be still and know that I am here.” “I am also here too.” It’s nice that he is so glad to abide with me. I would like to abide with others in our world but so I often I face condemation and rejection when I am real and it hurts. It hurts a lot.
I am pretty sure there are other like me out there. So I just want to say Hi.