It’s a strange thing to speak directly with your God…
To let his lips caress your body. His whisper becomes an echo in your ear cavities, if you will let it. His eyes hiding behind yours, allowing you a precious glimpse, into the omnipresent view from his window, that looks out at your world.
I’m not going to discuss which God we’re talking about here, or even what is God, or what is God for you. Because at the end of the day it really doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you learn how to speak directly with your own personal God. Maybe, thats through kneeling on the floor, hands clasped in head bowed prayer. The type of prayer that is composed as casually as a formal business letter. Something beginning with ‘Dear God’. That used to be how I prayed, until it stopped working. Because my God, isn’t a formal letter anymore.
I wondered how best to get my messages across, if kneeling on the floor was no longer the express postal service to heaven, for requests regarding pet unicorns, a maid to tidy my room, and a little brother, that it had once been. I thought Church might be my salvation. But, I had a deep certainty that my God had no interest in communicating with someone who was told to dress a certain way, sit still and ignore her itchy feet while being given only one option for communication, in a communion of people who were all trying to do and say exactly what I was. Maybe minus the unicorn.
So I stopped trying to talk to my God, but he didn't stop trying to talk to me.
Every time it rains, I felt a deep sense of universal compassion for my struggle and pain. It felt like heaven had opened up her eyes and blanketed me in her tears. Tears that belonged to me and me alone. That rain was for me, from my God. Every time I see a fairy, the wispy white bi-product of a weed, floating on the air, I quickly close my eyes shut and whisper the same prayer I did when I was kneeling on the floor, back in my little room at six years old.
‘Please let everyone I love be okay.’
Our lives should be spent recklessly pursuing the awestruck, earthquake moments when we feel most directly in contact with whoever or whatever our God is.
Or at least, I’ve known since I was six-years old, that mine would be.