More than once in my life, I’ve cried out to God. I’ve wailed and begged for mercy, guidance, forgiveness, or an explanation.
Death, illness, the loss of a friend, the pain of a child. I’ve gone to God. I haven’t always gotten an answer.
It’s funny how in the moment of tragedy or loss, in our pain or sorrow, we cry so loudly. Yet, it’s true that time heals wounds (not all of them and often not completely, but they heal to some degree nonetheless or become more bearable).
As time goes by, those cries become softer and softer. Sometimes, I even move on with my life and stop asking. I’m often guilty of assuming that if God doesn’t answer, then, God’s answer is simply “no”, or that God doesn’t care enough about me to be bothered with such trivial matters. “He’s busy in Libya,” my Mom would say. (The country changes, but she’s said it all my life.) And she’s right. It gives me perspective.
God must be a very busy God….too busy for me and my insignificant heartbreaks.
However, I do believe that even when we stop asking, when we stop praying out loud, when we move on with our busy lives, our hearts keep whispering our deepest needs to the Divine.
My heart has whispered for the last five years. “I’m sad. I need help. I don’t know how to fix it. Help me fix it. Help me….I’m lost.”
Tiny, tiny whispers.
That very busy, very big God, is neither too big nor too busy to hear our whispers.
Yesterday, five long years later, God said “Yes. I will help you. I will fix it. I have been fixing it all along. I just needed time. Be patient. I heard your whispers.”