Drowning

As I mentioned in a previous post, a few weeks ago I was distraught with God's seeming silence in my life. I would knock at His door with tears, pleading him to be near to me. To provide a portion of the comfort and peace that I once knew. I knew that certain events had to happen, but I told God that a little peace would be nice to experience every now and then in order to get me through the difficult moments. God seemed silent. Not far or absent, but silent. I could not understand God's very apparent presence in the moments that I do not seek him but his silence in the moments I need him most. CS Lewis was the only one who was able to provide some consolation - for his description of God's silence was poignant - a door slammed in your face followed by the sound of bolting and double bolting. Eager to find out how Lewis found his way, I continued reading A Grief Observed.

Lewis talked about the drowning man - the man who panics and cannot swim and is flailing his arms about. In that moment, no one can actually save him. It would be counterproductive. No one can save a man who is in that state. But as soon as the drowning man stops flailing his arms, as soon as he is quiet long enough that someone can get to him and pull him out of the water.

This reminds me of one of the times I have had to call 911. A little boy stopped breathing for a moment. I made the phone call and remained calm (my panic came later...). But those who were around me were crying and panicking. I will not forget the 911 responder's words to me - she could not give me instructions with those making so much noise in the background and everyone panicking.

I think lately I have been drowning and panicking. Maybe instead of God being silence, my own flailing about is blocking God from being able to touch me and help me. Lewis talks about how perhaps his own desperate need for God is getting in the way. Maybe I have been so desperate for God that I forget to be still long enough for me to see him.

The retreat on the weekend was quite refreshing for me. I purposely left everything behind - all the worries, all the things to do, all the pain. I think it helps that I was around people who do not know the painful parts of my life, so I was able to interact as if nothing is wrong. Maybe - sometimes I question my success at such attempts. My closest friends at the church knew of course and we had lots of really good and helpful discussions. For the most part, I got away. I spent time with God in nature. I've been so tired lately and been trying to force myself to accomplish my grand to do list. I get discouraged when I don't complete it and my times of rest are filled with guilt and worry. But at the retreat, it was impossible for me to complete my to do list. So there was nothing to do but rest and play. To talk with others. To enjoy nature. To stand before the sunset and marvel at how great God is as I talked about in another post.

I think I stopped flailing my arms long enough to see that God is bigger than I had once thought. I cannot see all his works. Who am I to question the Creator of the Universe when I can only catch a glimpse of what he has created at any given time?

Today I finished my book by CS Lewis. I love how my experience and my reading of CS Lewis have been aligned. I seem to get to the part of his book that matches with my thinking or experience, that meets me where I'm at. I love it when that happens. In the closing chapter, Lewis writes these words:

When I lay these questions before God, I get no answer. But a rather special sort of "No answer". It is not the locked door. It is more like a silent, certainly not uncompassionate, gaze. As though He shook His head not in refusal but waiving the question. Like, "Peace, child; you don't understand."

- A Grief Observed

I've been thinking about Christ gazing into Mary's eyes as she was sad of the loss of her dear brother Lazarus and how Christ just wept. He gave no answers.

Today I feel that Christ has gazed into my eyes and just wept. And that he has said to me, "Peace, child; you don't understand".