Today I had a hard day and decided God had abandoned me because I wasn’t living my life right. What a small, old thought. But I feel that a lot lately. Big, cosmic aloneness. For no reason at all. And a jealously or a disbelief when I hear someone else talk God talk.
But I don’t remember what God feels like.
I don’t remember what quiet feels like. Or confidence. Or reassuring joy.
I have a memory of lying alone on a big, green field and I am staring at the sky and I am quiet. Two birds keep joining and separating and joining again and something about their search feels like a message from God to me. I used to do that a lot – go out to fields and lie down and listen for God.
Maybe I’m afraid of what I’d hear. Maybe I’m afraid of what I wouldn’t hear.
The world is big. Green and blue and red inside, like us. And bodies unite and life forms inside a woman’s core. And there is music, and lyrics, and words, and the sound of a loved one’s voice. There is the softness of skin, silk, satin. There is uncontrolled laughter. And the taste of sugar and the taste of salt. And sleep. There is water, and dirt, and black skies. And the possibility of more universe, more to be known. And there is forgiveness and communion and surrender. And there is hope.
God is there.
I am small. And when I reflect on my selfish actions, my hateful desires, my refusal to embrace joy — I know I am sinful. Or whatever word works. Broken. In need of help. And God is there in the sleep, in the skin, in the laughter, in the voices, and music, and water, and deep, red dirt. And I am redeemed and healed again and again without even knowing.