My story part 10

In writing down parts of “my story” I have come to realize that I’m basically really dull; and thank God. There’s no story of how I over came tragedy, my childhood was in the realm of normal misery, there’s nothing that makes me special in the world’s eyes: I hold no power in terms of who I am or what I do or who I know. I am surrounded by many blessings that I would hate to lose. But I’m ordinary: a sinner and a child of God.

I am deeply deeply grateful to have followers and “likes”; to be heard anyway.

What has surprised me about writing down these bits of my story – my “comfort zone” with God seems to be mystery. I’m perfectly okay with the mystery of the Trinity, with the mystery of God’s greatness, with the mystery of Grace, with the mystery of what exactly happened when Jesus died on the Cross and why did it have to happen and all that it means. Of course I keep reading and dwelling in scripture and other writings to push into the mystery. But “mystery” does not scare me. I know and trust that God loves me, that God loves. That love wins. So the mysteries are exciting. The mysteries are the rest of the story. They won’t limit my faith or derail my faith. I can embrace learning how all this works and how the people of the past (the “Saints”) have thought about it all. And how knowledge changes and circles back and moves forward.

That’s soooo Presbyterian of me, yes?

Perhaps my personal worst suffering was in losing my first two pregnancies. One was a “normal” miscarriage and the other was more involved. A sonogram showed a very deformed fetus: no kidneys for example. While it was clearly not a pregnancy that was going to come to term we opted to have the new-at-that-time testing to see if the problem might be genetic. At that time, as best I recall, there was a three-week wait for the test results.

And that whole time was unexpectedly peaceful. Our whole church was praying for us; our Pastors were supportive and understanding; our families and friends loved us. By rights I should have been weeping daily. Instead I felt surrounded by angel feathers, wrapped in a blanket, cherished. Being held in prayer; being held in the light seemed to bring light and peace to me. I didn’t pray for a miracle; I didn’t pray in words. Prayer was something like:

“Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words.” (Romans 8:26)

Not that there is a right or wrong way to face times of trouble — God will meet you where you are. Emmanuel God-with-us.

It’s a mystery of love.

 

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