The Preacher's Daughter - the Foundation of my Mind
My father was (and is) a humble man. Quiet spoken and gentle. As a child I was known as "Daddy's girl" and that was a label I wore proudly. I loved him. He was never unkind to me. And his faith, well I loved that, too. I was a pupil at the feet of a kind, loving man who practiced what he preached. He was passionate about what he believed. It was his whole life. But his faith wasn't a religion for him, in fact religion was a word he steered away from altogether. For him, it was simply his faith and his ministry to the world around him. It was a relationship with the Divine that he wanted to share with others. And it was deeply, deeply personal.
Growing up I clung to that faith. I clung to the hope that in my darkest times (and there were quite a few) that Someone was guiding me, walking with me, carrying me. Every night from the age of 13, without fail, I dug deeply into the Bible desperate to find passages from which I could learn. Stories of the Old Testament mesmerized and captivated me. Amazingly, those stories follow me and I draw strength from them still today.
The first time "the thought voice" came to me was when I was about 10 or 11. We were running out of gas. My mom and dad sat in the front seat, and my sister and I sat in the back. Dad was saying they were about out of gas, and my mom sat tensely as she worried, scanning the road for a gas station to appear on the horizon. I don't know why, but I was very scared. I didn't want us to run out of gas. None of us knew where we were, or where a gas station was. I began to pray. "Please God! Please bring us to a gas station!" I prayed it over and over and over again. In the middle of one of those pauses in my prayer sentences, came for the first time in my childhood recollection what I can only describe as a still, small voice - a thought in my head that seemed to speak to me as if it were not my own. "Believe," it said. I sat wide eyed. I was immediately shocked and stilled as I sat wondering if this was God who was speaking to me in my mind. Ok, I thought. I had been praying and asking, when really what I needed to do was to ask and then trust. I began to calm down. Moments later, we rolled into a gas station without missing a single beat.
As a teenager I had been rebellious in my own way. Angry. So many things to be angry about, it seemed. I hated my life, I hated myself and I hated the thought of living. Every day I would pray, "God please let me die. Please let me die." At the ripe old age of 13, it was a prayer I prayed over and over.
The depth of pain and hurt inside me became my guilty little pleasure. I nursed it. I babied it. I gave it more power and strength in my thoughts day by day.
My daily chore was to wash the dinner dishes. I was doing that one particular night as it was storming. Rain, lightning, thunder. As I washed the dinner plates, that old prayer bubbled up in me again. "Please let me die, God. Please let me die." I just didn't want to live any longer.
Thunder clapped. And in an instant, electricity zinged up my arms from my hands in the dishwater below. It was instantaneously silent. I heard no voices. I saw no beings. Just that small, still voice in my mind again that came so abundantly clear as I stood there frozen. "Christy, I could have taken your life just then. But I didn't. I love you and I have a plan for your life."
That was all. Even now as I write it some 30 years later, my eyes still well up with tears. It was the deal. It was the deal that changed my life. My role was to allow the God of the Universe to love me and in turn, He would take care of the rest.
As I grew up, one thing was clear. I loved this God I had discovered, and I wanted to give back this hope I had found to others. Simply, that was it. That was my life's purpose. All the while, I was learning how to think. Dad would give me lessons along the way. "I am scared, Dad." "God has not given you a spirit of fear but of power and of love and of a sound mind," he said. "Dad, I'm worried!!" "Be anxious for nothing but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus." Scriptures. Words to train my mind on how to think and how to garner my own strength and corral my emotion.
Over the years my definitions and thoughts have shifted and they have changed. My understanding of who and what I believe God to be and what my role is in my own life have evolved. And I like that. It is the same simple faith and love foundation, just different words, definitions, strengths, beliefs and personal responsibility. After years of growth and study, I no longer believe in cages. I no longer believe in boxes. I don't subscribe to those lines of thought that put God, the Universe, or myself into a box by defining who and what God is or who or what I am. With respect to God, I prefer God to be a mystery. Even the Old Testament scriptures have God answering "I Am." No definition. No attributes. Just that God is.
I have questions and I'm grateful for them. I know that there is no definable way to say whether there is a God or not, and I'm happy to sit on the fence with that. I'm grateful for the peace in my soul, no matter the source. I have chosen to hope that there is something greater than myself, and that hope has carried me through my darkest times.
I have been bound by religion. I have been bound by relationships. I have been bound by my mind. Those rules and laws choked me as I attempted to wear those yokes about my neck as I was instructed. That doesn't suit or fit me so I no longer wear them. But I understand them.
Having been the caged bird that was confined and the bridled horse that was fenced in, nothing about those boxes is appealing for me. I am fine to let the rain and wind pour over me. I am fine to let the sun beat down on me. I am fine to be in the midst of the storm and just remain. I am even fine to be in the middle of the ocean in a raft without a paddle, although I hate that most of all. I am fine because my faith is not "out there". Rather, it lies within me. Simply, I have learned to trust. I have learned to surrender to what is.
The Bird Uncaged is a Preacher's daughter. She knows two worlds: the world of love and life, and the world of prisons and cages. But ultimately while the Preacher's daughter is still a label one could use to describe her, the better title is simply and plainly, "Daddy's girl." When we look back on our lives, nothing will matter more than the people we love, the people who loved us, and the relationships we have built. One day it will only be our handprints that are left behind - handprints of love left on the hearts of those who love us. And for me, it is my Daddy and Mama's handprints of love that will forever be on my heart. ❤️
Postscript: I wrote above of the experience in my teenage years of praying to die. Today, I stood by my kitchen sink and sobs overtook me as my knees and face hit the floor in prayer. My prayer was, "Please God, please don't let me die yet. Please don't let me die yet. There are so many people I want to reach, so many lives I want to touch. Please don't let me die yet." The former prayer was from a girl who was hurting, broken and who felt alone. The latter prayer is from a girl who wears scars, still faces pains, but knows that they are there for not just herself, but for others. So my prayer is for grace. My prayer is for time - time to let the song inside me be fully sung so that others may have hope. And to heal. ❤️
Comments
Post a Comment