Faith in the Fire
Hearing God Through the Noise
I woke up to a dimmed morning light. I slipped out of my room to make coffee. The house was quiet and warm. The kid’s sleepover must have gone well, as they peacefully slept snug, still downstairs. Outside my windows, the dreary cold and wet morning invited me to curl up on my favorite chair, whip-topped coffee and book in tow. I have plenty of mornings to myself in silence like this, but there’s something more peaceful and idealistic, more soul-filling, when the kids are just downstairs.
It was not a morning I would interrupt such core-memory making bliss with frantic calls to get ready and scurry out for church. So, I grabbed my phone and turned on the live-feed, listening to worship between the pages of my book. I heard the pastor chime in with an anecdote from the weekend of gentleman’s encounter on a walk with his dog. My ears perked up. The gentleman had heard something absolutely audible to him, a voice, strongly commanding one word: laugh. I felt the words being shared from my phone, I felt them. Instantly, emotion I cannot name by adjective, washed over my shoulders and down my spine. Hot pools filled my eyes and I smiled, because I knew that voice.
It's not a story I share too often. It was this time last year I broke out of the confines of my comfort zone and shared it during an interview for a podcast. It’s a scary thing, to share something so personal, so spiritual and miraculous, that it would undoubtedly earn me a one way ticket to the psych ward. However, when I started to quietly share my experience among friends that I trusted, it was amazing to hear their reactions, and then listen as they’d share stories they had heard. (One story particularly, that sounded eerily similar to my own. Make sure to ask me about that one!) And that was how I was invited to be featured on a podcast full of stories from women sharing their divine encounters and blessings.
Listen to the full episode by using the link below, following my blog.
The story goes a little something like this…
I was in a really bad place after a very bad break up a couple of years ago. It wasn’t your run-of-the-mill heartbreak. It was a sudden abandonment, like that of a death. My kids too, abandoned, and left asking me why everyone leaves me. (How do you answer that as a mother?) More than losing the undeserving boy, his actions led to something more sinister and haunting. I was losing my sense of self and once again questioning my character. It rattled every broken piece inside me, that I had just spent the previous three years slowly healing after a decade of psychological abuse and warfare. Up was down again. The sky was purple again. There was no faith in trusting anyone again. It was like nothing and everything made sense. I was in a dark, vulnerable place. Fighting to stay out of bed, forcing myself to flash smiles between tears for my kids, medicating to sleep. For two months, I was at war with myself, slowly sinking deeper into cynicism and defeat, giving into whatever bad habit could offer me fleeting relief from my thoughts.
Read a little more about those dark days and living with grief here:
I was standing at church one Sunday morning that spring. Church was the one place of comfort during that time. Like music to my ears, literally. Soaking in the worship and focusing on The Word was momentary shelter from my reality. But that morning, I couldn’t escape it. I thought for sure I was losing the feeble grasp on what sanity I had left. The thoughts in my head were adventitious, cruel and loud, holding me hostage from my surroundings. Things like, “that was your last chance”, “you’ll be no good to anyone”, “you deserved what happened to you”, and endless mocking of the state I was finding myself in. My head was like a crowded bar, with voices from every direction, talking over each other - muted, muffled music playing in the background, with too much noise to interpret. I wanted to hear it, I tried with everything to tune out the chatter commanding my attention, but it was impossible. Like a safety rope, just out of reach, sliding through my fingertips. Everyone around me was fading into my dizzied surroundings, I felt detached and distant. Defeated, ready to give myself over to the darkness fully.
That’s when it happened. It was one single word; audible, masculine and thundering, strongly commanding: Stop. I jolted back into my body. Confused, I looked around for who would have yelled “stop” in the middle of church. It was quiet around me again, free of collateral noise. The worship music was clear and sweet to my ears. I could focus. I could hear the strum of each guitar chord, the plucking of each bass string, the rhythmic tap of the drumsticks and every lyric of praise. My eyes met the eyes of those around me. I wasn’t alone. I looked around trying to find the answer as to why a man would shout so passionately such a word, IN THE MIDDLE OF CHURCH. In my bewilderment, I slowly realized, no one else heard the voice. My feet tingled, my spine warmed, my cheeks flushed. Though these passing thoughts and emotions felt like minutes, in an instant, with a single word, I was saved.
It’s remarkable. And trust me, if I heard me telling the story, I wouldn’t believe me either. Surreal as it was though, I had lived it. Going forward from that morning, I experienced what felt like a spiritual hangover for a couple days. Maybe it was that I was processing the shock, or just reabsorbing the intense emotional flood, but life had changed after that morning. There was a calm, confidence brought back, motivating me again, assuring me. It wasn’t something so black and white, as if mud had given me perfect 20/20 sight after a lifetime of blindness. More like eagerly watching a sunrise after the longest night, the horizon’s light becoming brighter as time passed. The taunting voices had ceased, I was a familiar friend to myself again. Each morning, it became a little easier to get out of bed. Each day, it became more enjoyable to “do” things again. Until finally, my sea legs were sturdy, and I was able to ride out the stormy waves, without going overboard and drowning. I had felt so close to drowning that morning I heard Him pull me back onto the boat.
Was the darkness I was confined to and those harmful, bullying voices really created within me? Or was there something darker and demonic being forced upon me? In my vulnerability, I had become hopeless. I’d begun to doubt the good parts of myself and who I was. I was desperate to find relief and joy but lacked incentive or faith to muster the willpower to do so. I was the weak, injured gazelle to the opportunistic, hungry carnivore. I do believe I was being preyed upon in my weakest moment. I had been overtaken and spiraling, and as a defense mechanism, was trying to steer control of my circumstances. I had the arrogance to obsess about how I was poorly made, what I had done wrong, and what I needed to do to change it all. When I couldn’t, the harder I’d flail. I was sinking in quicksand with every piece of the puzzle I tried to force into place on my own accord, whether it was in the right place or the wrong place. Suffocating, while the voice in my ear, like the devil on my shoulder, quiet at first, was egging me on until it was roaring. And I gave into it, I believed it. Dare I say, I even began to encourage it. My demons and I, up against the world.
Church was where I felt peace from this, until that Sunday morning when the roar was louder than the worship, and God needed to intervene.
“ And he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. ”
Of heartbreak and loss, chronic pain and medical mystery, facing an empty fridge and fearing homelessness, my life has been riddled with challenges of varying degrees throughout. I believe most people can assert the same sentiment, tales of trials and tribulations; I am nothing special here. In my adulthood of the last six years, I have come to learn what ‘they’ mean when they say that God provides even for the sparrows. More mental anguish has been produced by my inability to control my circumstances, than by letting things be and wait for my “Peace, be still” moment. (Mark 4:39) We are so quick to ask God for mercy, wanting him to terminate, completely, the pain we don’t feel we can withstand. It was God’s mercy for me during these times allowing me to get knocked down, in order to learn my confidence that I can take these lessons standing up. That I wasn’t here just floating through this life trying to make it all work on my own. That there is greater purpose and meaning I wasn’t even aware of yet. That I couldn’t prepare for, but He already had. Opportunities and resources seemed to arrive out of thin air, in the form of kind strangers or unexpected events; His provisions were enough. And when I was being led astray, doubting and hopeless, His protection was enough.
Perhaps, that’s what makes these mellow, cozy mornings together with the ones I love even sweeter. There’s a world of fear still around me; people harshly divided on all subjects, healthcare and finances a constant concern… and then there’s my car, Lord, am I praying for my car! But what will be will be. When with faith you can relish and enjoy the present moments, you appreciate life in a different way.
“Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.” (Matthew 6:34)
I’m learning to take comfort in uncertainty after all that I’ve seen. The bold and detailed memories, etched into my senses from that morning in church hearing the voice, was a powerful encounter I will carry with me in life. It has built in me an unshakable faith that I am eternally grateful to have been blessed with.
As always, keep f*cking going! 😊
So God Made A Mother: Whisper Stories
Follow the image link to listen to my podcast interview and other amazing stories of everyday miracles and motherhood.