At the beginning of this week, I paused for a moment to get my breathing just right. I knew the days ahead were sure to be overwhelming to say the least — requiring the always daunting process of shaking off the last remnants of the holidays and searching for focus.
I mean, it’s good to be back at work with the holidays in hindsight. It’s good to reconnect with coworkers — and work together to solve all the world’s problems.
And it’s not like this was the first time I’d ever experienced coming back to work.
But it felt different.
In the morning dimness of my office, feeling the trepidation of the day and week ahead, I bowed my head and whispered, “Dear God . . .”
But then I suddenly stopped.
I’ve been a Christian for awhile. Like the experience of most people in the Christian faith (or at least I tell myself that), it’s been a journey that’s taken countless random turns — or turns that appeared random. And I’ve given God the silent treatment for a few seasons. Typical of just about everyone else, right?
But prayer for me has always been a little . . . blah. I don’t know why. And honestly, I can’t even really describe what that means. I know it’s important. It just feels so empty.
Brené Brown, in one of her lectures on the “Gifts of Imperfection,” talks about how we have this tendency to, when we experience something really good in our lives, immediately look up in anticipation for the “other shoe to drop.” As though the inevitable conclusion to something good is something bad.
Do you do this? Even on a small scale? I do it all the time.
And this morning, as I began my little prayer, I found myself channeling that sentiment.
Speaking the opening lines to begin my plea and ask God for help to get through the day — for positive energy, good vibes, and to make it exceptionally easy to be kind — I had this sudden suspicion that I wouldn’t be talking with the Divine as much as I would be giving the universe permission. Permission to unleash its very worst.
In my limited capacity to remember anything, it seems like (at least this morning) when I ask God for help to get though the day — that day ends up being more grueling than what I’d originally anticipated.
Obviously, that’s just stupid thinking. But maybe there’s something to it.
Not that the universe is actually against me or anyone, but that the “shit hitting the fan” is really God simply providing “opportunities” to see how genuine we are in our prayers for help. And if we’re willing to sit back and just let Him handle it. Whatever “it” is.
Holy Nickers 