to seek

When the challenges of a previous year are still plaguing one six months into the following year, drastic measures must be taken!

Sensitivity is absolutely necessary for writing and creativity; not so much for dealing with change. So for me to walk into a room filled with approximately 16 people I did not know, at a church in which I have never attended in a neighboring town, for a book study led by someone I used to go to church with, and then force myself to interact as though this behavior was nothing out of the ordinary for me, was in essence, an act of total desperation.

But God met me there. And the group graciously gave me a place among them to dwell while I continued to work things out. Five weeks into the study I wrote this prayer:


Prayer of Lament

By Mary Ellen Shores

I seek to do your will, O Lord; how can this be your will?

With open hands, I reach for you; to be in your presence is my delight. 

When it is too dark for my eyes to see, your Spirit illuminates my path.

Sovereign will, ultimate will, that which makes everything come to pass.

It was not beyond your control to intervene. Why did you remain silent?

You could have written a different script, giving each one another role to play.

Perceptive will, revealed will, written on the hearts of your children.

You gave us your directions, along with the freedom not to follow them.

Wickedness cannot be justified, even within your sovereign will, can it?

Perfect will, too great for my imperfection, is supposed to be enough.

Endless speculation about the way things may have been wearies the soul.

You are Almighty. I am not. What are my closed fists holding onto?

Forgiving requires an act of my will; words spoken in private to clear the slate.

Reconciliation catches in my throat, rendering me incapable of logic or truth.

How can I make peace with people like them, like me, like all of us? 

If you will open my hands and hold them up; I will yet praise you.

Let peace flow into my overwrought mind; heal my broken heart. Again.

Fill my spirit to overflowing so that I may arise and serve you with joy.

Undeterred by my new unrecognizable self, I would choose to travel to yet another town to sit in one of a half dozen rocking chairs in a room lined with bookshelves around a coffee table, where a small stack of cards with questions on them would define the day for the five of us--me, still trying to get my act together, and four women whom I had never met.

How has doubt been present in your spiritual life? was the question written on one of the cards.

Scripture passages chosen focused on the account of Thomas who doubted that Jesus had truly risen from the dead. He does not say he CANNOT believe until he has proof, he says he WILL NOT believe. I consider how many times I may have put God to the test.

Reading the 20th chapter of John I settle in for one of my favorite stories in the Bible: Mary Magdalene going to the tomb and getting to be the first to see Jesus after the resurrection. I know the story well. And like a movie scene watched over and over for the sheer enjoyment of a beautiful unfolding drama, I always pause at the part in which Jesus speaks her name in a way that she knows it is him--the one who set her free from oppression, the one who respected her as a woman, the one who chose to be her friend. She would have seemed so far from the kind of person who could glorify God with her life. Perhaps that is why she is my favorite.

"Woman, why are you weeping?" is the question asked of Mary, first by the angels who see her looking into the empty tomb and then by Jesus before he reveals to her his identity.

Woman, why are you weeping? became my question, not written on a card but on my heart.

I walk the labyrinth in a light rain left alone with my thoughts as I make the journey through the maze demarcated by its rocky walls. The pine straw scattered on the walkway over the soft earth cushion each step as the heavy drops of rain make polka dot patterns on the rocks.

Walking through a garden abundant with plant life, filled also with artwork to enhance the visual pleasure, I pause briefly before heading down toward the lake. Though it had been hot, the cloud cover provides relief as a cool breeze blows through the trees. Past the colorful prayer flags and up toward the vegetable garden, a porch swing becomes a place of refuge for me. Raindrops splashing rhythmically on the water create gentle ripples comforting me as the swing, hung between two large trees, rock me back and forth until I feel safe. Held.

Lunch consists of raspberries, blueberries, tomatoes, snap peas, hummus, avocados, my homemade apple pie and coffee. Fresh food prepared lovingly nourish my body; conversation revives my soul.

Five women who have lived long enough to experience many variations of faith and doubt--still able to laugh; intellectual women who are challenged to find ways to extend love beyond denominational boundaries out into a world with enormous needs, glorifying God in the process. Leaders--all.

Wanting to create art as I continued to seek God, I wove wire through buttons, winding the wire into a loop of time. A heart signifies the love that makes everything work together for good. Pink paper is the sky at daybreak, with a wisp of cloud coming down representing the Spirit who gives me inspiration; a band of flowers representing the earth and a piece across the middle anchoring the celestial rotation--the fabric of daily living. "The artificial notion of time" is what I would name it later.

By the end of the day, two of the women had to go, leaving the woman directing the group, one other woman and I to handle the issue of doubt, with care and compassion. I needed to answer for myself why Mary was still weeping.

Mary had a choice. She could remain in her grief as she gazed upon an empty tomb or she could turn to recognize Jesus who encouraged her to go on with life in a new way. She had been healed. She was still loved. There was no longer any reason for her to weep.    

Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning. [Psalm 30:5]

I await the dawn.