A different kind of prayer

She texted me Saturday night:             I just realized… it’s been a year today.

A whole year. A year since a change in church leadership changed everything for us. Maybe not so much for me, since I was leaving in August anyway, but definitely for them. A year since I first felt my comfortable world shifting under my feet.

It’s all part of this growing up, I suppose.

If I could look the me of a year ago in the eyes and tell her just one thing, I’d grab her hands and say, “Hold on, love. It’s gonna be okay. You’re not going to feel like it is, but it will be. I promise.”

So much has changed this year. I know I’ve talked about it before, but every time I turn around, I notice another change. But they haven’t come without pain, though, or a fair share of tears.

I wrestle sometimes with the question of speaking for God and speaking to God and where they really meet in my heart, reminded again of it this week when I read this. I wonder, I suppose, if I am doing too much of the speaking for in lieu of speaking right to him.

But still.

He reminds me of all the change of this year and all the tears. And I wonder, also, if I haven’t been learning a different kind of prayer all along. A prayer that acknowledges grief more deeply than words ever could, that gives me space to begin to understand myself in light of all that’s changing.

I have learned so much in class this year about the beauty of lament. Maybe I’ve been learning it in other ways, too. Maybe the change has pushed me just far enough that I finally have to be honest when I pray.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s a far greater gift then I could have ever expected.

Hold on, love. It’s gonna be okay.