Church vs Fairy tales - a prayer

(http://www.tor.com/2016/05/04/red-as-blood-and-white-as-bone/)

Yet another writing fit inspired. Oh, but the old tales still move me. They touch some part of me long-since silenced that never grew up.

“That probably explains why you still have a fairy tale faith,” the ghosts in my memory reply. I tell the voice of my ex to shut up. “But you do still pray as if the Lord were your fairy godmother,” more current shadows answer. Could that be true? Do I pray expecting God to magically fix all of my problems? Yep, sure do. Still I have a problem with the idea I should actually expect God to do as I ask.

“Oh, so you just vent thinking that God is going to ignore you?” Ok, now I’m hearing from my old church. “That is double-minded, you of little faith! That is why your life is so messy! You can expect NOTHING of the Lord without believing fully that the Lord will provide.”

“That isn’t why your life is a mess,” my other church answers in my head, “You need to accept the Lord’s will for your life and learn to rejoice and give glory to the Lord THROUGH your brokenness. You should be praying for the endurance to glorify the Lord in your suffering.”

Man, I wish I could lock those two in a metaphysical room somewhere behind my unconscious mind and let them beat each other over the head with scriptures until they both pass out and shut up. I want to be able to concentrate on my own thoughts without having them drowned out by those of everyone in my life that has ever decided to correct what I think.

Tell me your stories, grandmother.

I want to rest in that silent place, still and waiting on the Lord to speak. I picture Martha’s sister Mary, somewhere in Bethany, sitting at the feet of Jesus in wrapped fascination – not even able to concentrate on her own work. She just wants to hear him and no one else. That’s what I want.

“Hey, you know isolation leads to delusion, right?” Great, now I’m arguing with myself. Lord, please help me. It is hard for me to even think my own thoughts. I’d much rather hear Yours. At least that last one came from you. I know I need human connection. Would you please provide some that are more “pray and search the scriptures,” and less, “teach and quote the scriptures?” It would be less tiring. To be fair, my church surprised me last night. They called for prayer as if they believed that miracles could really happen. They called for boldness to save everyone in town. The skeptic in my head heard, “Tell everyone of God’s love! Then tell them to stop being gay.” They never said that of course. “No, no, no,” I imagine hearing the pastor saying, “God loves all sinners, that isn’t the message at all. We just want everyone in God's love. He will teach them not to be gay later. Bla bla bla,” as if our high and noble intentions mean anything to anyone except ourselves. Still, they are calling for us to pray boldly – not for comfort of course. They made that very clear –just what is on the card. That is a prayer to enable us to speak God’s word with boldness and for God to save everyone in town. Yet on the back is a quote from Acts near the end of Ch. 4, “Now Lord, consider their threats and enable your servants to speak your work with great boldness. Stretch out you hand to heal and perform signs and wonders through the name of your holy servant, Jesus.” That is more like what I would pray. Sitting there I heard God remind me that the people who prayed that prayer were living in downtown crazy at the time and that many of the miracle-performing servants died horribly. “I will give you . . . whatever you ask. I have little left anyhow.” Was I willing to live in downtown crazy to be in the fairy tale? Would I give whatever was asked to play my small part in the story?

I had a moment of doubt. Would I be able to stand it? Would it be any worse than to remain as I am? Tell me your stories, Lord. I am listening. Make them make sense to me. I am listening and I trust you.

Maybe I should be praying no more or less than I am told to pray. Maybe I should be praying for the ability to endure suffering in a way that glorifies you. Maybe. But this really hurts. You know better than I do that me praying for endurance would be a lie. (Thank you for supplying endurance anyway.) I can’t lie to you. You know I don’t want more patience. You know that I am weak and afraid. It hurts and I want it to stop. Maybe I should pray knowing, believing head to toes with confidence that I know that you going to end my suffering and make my life into a testimony that will change lives. The truth is that I DO know that. My testimony is already in the hands of my children and I know it will affect their lives but I don’t know how they will work it out. I have no doubt that all of my tears will be wiped away someday. I just don’t know when. You know better than me and I trust you to know it far better than me anyway. All I can do is ask for the pain to stop. I’ve asked for years and you’ve always said,” No.” Perhaps you’ve been saying, “Wait,” but I can’t tell the difference. Neither answer makes me love or trust you any less. Yes or No are yours alone – all I can do is trust you with the answer.

Then why do I ask? The pastor asked the same thing last night. You are hardly a genie in a bottle or a fairy godmother. You have no limits so it is pointless to try to bargain with you. It seems a much better plan of action to just surrender to your will entirely. That way I don’t screw anything up.

So why do I ask? Because it hurts and you told me to ask, to bring my burdens to you. Shouldn’t that be enough? I won’t lie to you – kind of pointless to try. I will trust your answer even if it is, “No”. You keep saying it and I keep asking. Do I think I am going to change your mind?

Maybe I do think that. Perhaps it is more of a hope than an actual thought. Whether I hold that hope somewhere in me or not, I know better. You changing your mind in favor of my epileptic excuse for a central processing unit is 100% backward. I ask not for the sake of reason but for mercy.

That is why I come to you. I have no bargains to make either hard or fair. All you ask of me is myself and it is all I have to give anyway. I can’t say I am prepared for whatever you ask of me. I’m probably not. I only know that if sackcloth and ashes is where I belong in the story, then a shining palace would be a waking nightmare for me outside of your will. This is your story to tell, not mine. So I will sway on goose legs for as long as I must, waiting, wondering what good my part of the story will do. You are greater, wiser and more kind than any of the tales the voices all around me tell of you. I trust you even when I don’t understand the stories you tell. You restore my soul.

“It was about a cup and a sword and a tree and a green hill.” I know that story. I even know what Lucy meant by, “It’s all fading away.” Perhaps our minds aren’t meant to hang on to the present-ness of you. Oh, but it is good when you speak to us. I am Klara of the Karheghy, Mary of Bethany, Lucy of Narnia. I am just a small part of the story –as important as you would have me be. I ask. I wait. I am listening.

Enable you servant with whatever our broken and limited minds and bodies require to speak your word with boldness. Stretch out your hand to heal and perform whatever signs and wonders you require in the Name of my Lord, my Savior Jesus.

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