This morning, driving to work, for the tenth time since I started listening to the song Breathe, by Michael W. Smith, I was brought to tears. Something about that song speaks to me in a way that no other Christian music ever has.
And it made me realize something else pretty significant that came out of the tough times of the past two years of my life: The strengthening of my faith. It's not really the song that brings me to tears, it's the power of my faith.
You would not have caught me crying to a Christian song three years ago. Not to say I wasn't a Christian, or that I didn't believe in God. I was, and I did. I've always felt I had a strong personal relationship with God due to being raised in a religious household and attending Catholic Schools since kindergarten.
However, I don't think I fully understood my faith. It had been fed to me in a steady diet since I was a child; too young to know exactly what it was. It hadn't developed due to my own needs or feelings. Plus, I gotta admit, Catholic mass doesn't do the best job of evoking emotion or passion towards God. So, I was taught, and I ran with it. I believed it. But did I have a strong, emotional connection to it? I don't think so.
I knew God was there for me, I knew I could fall back on my faith, but I didn't interact with it. I didn't have the awe and reverence for it that I do now. I definitely didn't comprehend its power.
There were times before the divorce - a year before - where I was so miserable I didn't know what to do anymore. I didn't want to come home after work because I knew the day would be unhappy from when I walked in the door until I fell asleep. There were times I got in bed really early - like 8 p.m. - just so that I could usher the next day in quicker and walk out the door again.
Other times I would summon up some optimism and say "it's going to be okay!" running home full of hope and denial, cooking big dinners while he laid on the couch and Blackberry messaged with his girlfriend.
Sometimes I would drive to church after work and just sit there for a while, head down on the pew. Or go to the bookstore, library, or mall, just so I could kill time before I had to go home. I would cry, and pray, and meditate, and ask God what I should do. It went kind of like this: "Tell me what to do! Give me a sign! My life is in your hands. I just can't do this anymore."
Sometimes I felt guilty, like I had failed, like I wasn't worthy to talk to Him. I stopped praying for a while, because it just hurt to do it. I thought I was too far astray.
But even though I felt like I wasn't getting an answer, when I did talk to Him it helped. Little did I know that I would get a BIG answer - a BIG get out, now, kind of sign. When God talks, he makes it pretty clear. And after it was over and I moved into my parents house, I talked to him more. I locked myself in my childhood bedroom and talked to him for hours in between sobs. My cat - unhappy about being confined to the room due to my mom's allergies - cried with me. He yowled for hours like I'd never heard an animal yowl before.
It was a sorrowful symphony that only God would hear.
My point is that all of this, the beautiful place I am in now, strengthened my faith and re-created my relationship with God in a way that I never knew possible. Before, I was so "lost without you...desperate for you." (as the song goes).
God taught me a lesson, and he brought me back to him through this experience. After I got through it, I felt like I had found Him, even though he'd always been there. I feel a strong emotional connection to my faith and to God and I am so in love with Him as I've never been in love with anyone. I accept His grace and mercy and unyielding love for me and through it I've learned to love myself and others better. I want to love others as He loves them. I am learning to love myself as He loves me. I know that I would not have made my way out of that horrible situation without Him.
I know that I am where I am today because of Him. And I am so incredibly thankful for that.
No comments:
Post a Comment