Coming Home

For you created my inmost being; You knit me together in my mother’s womb.  Psalm 139:13

Lord knows my faith walk has had its ups and downs, so they say, its curves and dips...its “danger, falling rock ahead” and its “oh shit, the bridge is out and now you have to wade through this muddy river.”  I’m only human after all, and at this point, I’m thankful to have had a faith walk at all.  I meet a lot of people who were raised with religion, but who have never known God.  I’m glad that I have...that I do.  I’m glad that my faith journey has had its fair share of reasonable skepticism, and I’m happy to have encountered theologians like Soren Kierkegaard, who talk about faith as something that cannot be explained solely with reason, but on the contrary, requires something of “a leap” into the absurd.  And Paul Tillich, who talks about how as finite beings, we will always be limited when relating to the infinite, and therefore faith, by its very nature, requires doubt.  But I’m not writing today to explore my doubts.  On the contrary, I want to reflect a bit on experience and on mystery.  Where better to start than with memory, the memories of a girl growing up in the rural South.

Bush River Baptist Church is the archetypal religious insititute of my memory.  A white traditional church building with stairs leading up to ionic columns, surrounded by miles and miles of farmland, it’s where my parents were married and where my grandparents are now buried.  It’s where we celebrated Mother’s Day each year, pinning a red flower on our dresses if our mother was still living and a white flower if our mother had passed away.  After church, the family returned to Valley Farm, my grandaddy’s dairy farm, to crowd around the dinner table and ooh and ahh over Lilly’s biscuits, give each other a hard time, and give thanks to God.  Poised and elegant, Grandmama walked calmly from the kitchen to the dining room, talking with the cook and making sure everything was in order.  Grandaddy sat at the head of the table, asking any newcomer his standard Sunday question in a loud voice with jabbing curiosity, “How’d you like my preacher?” 

I remember as a little girl, standing on a stool in the living room for a fitting.  Grandmama was making me an Easter dress to wear to church on Easter Sunday, the white lace falling naturally in place as she quietly and expertly fit and pinned.  I remember standing on the wide front porch looking out over the cornfields to the woods beyond and knowing that we would go catch frogs later around the ponds.  All the ponds had names.  There was Helen’s Pond, named for my grandmama; The Catfish Pond, for well, of course, fishing for catfish; The New Pond, because it was the one most recently built; The Big Pond, which was in the back of farm and the biggest; and The Pond Next to the House, where fishing was reserved for family or close family friends, where Grandaddy fed the ducks each morning, calling out in a ridiculous voice at the top of his lungs, “Heeeeeeere, ducky, ducky, DuckYYY!!!” 

Bush River, this place, this space in my memory, is filled with love: with the love of family, the love of nature and the love of God.  Lying in a soft bed, listening to the crickets chirping into the night and knowing the expanse of fields all around was peace to me.  Waking to soft sunlight, smelling the sausage cooking downstairs and knowing I had a day of riding go-carts and playing in barns was hope to me.  At the end of every trip to Bush River, when Mom, Dad, Will and I had packed up the car and were getting ready to head back to Greenville, we kissed Grandmama and Grandaddy goodbye.  Before leaving, Grandaddy would grab my arm, look me in the eyes and say in his distinct old Southern accent, “Let your influence be for good.”  He had a lot of advice, but this was always his parting advice to his grandchildren.   

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”  Jeremiah 29:11

When I was in my twenties, my aunt invited me to attend a prayer conference-type-thing at her church in the Low Country.  Gosh, I love the Low Country.  I’m a Greenville girl, and I’ll defend the Foothills any day of the week...we’ve got the mountains, we’ve got a beautiful and quaint downtown area with the river, the waterfall, the bridge, a wonderful running trail for miles and miles, great theatre and world-class restaurants, and of course, we’ve got the CLEMSON TIGERS wooohooo, woohoo, hoo hoo!!  But I have to admit, there’s something about the South Carolina coast.  I love visiting my aunt in Mt. Pleasant, smelling that salt water air and melting into the heat and humidity like moss hanging on an old Oak tree.

My aunt Linda is a prayer warrior.  She would roll her eyes and laugh outloud if she heard me say that, but it’s true.  She counsels people through her church, studies the scriptures and teaches people about prayer and about God.  This particular weekend, we went to a three-day prayer seminar at her church.  We listened to presentations, read scriptures, prayed together with a leader, prayed individually, and prayed together in groups.  Let me now say that I am not a prayer warrior.  Prayer has always been something personal to me, and I am not particularly comfortable even praying outloud, so the conference, while interesting, was somewhat uncomfortable for me.  I can’t say that I was in my element, but I was curious about the process and wanted to learn more.

Towards the end of the conference, our leader organized us into two groups, with each group standing on opposite sides of the room and gave us these instructions:  The women in my group should close their eyes and enter into silent prayer with God, you know, abide in His presence and such, for a period of time.  After a few minutes, the women in the other group would walk up to a woman of their choice and gently touch that woman on the arm.  In this moment, the women in my group should expect a Word from God to give to the woman who touched our arm. 

Okay.  Right.  I was only a little bit terrified by this.  But, ah well, there I was, so I gave it a go.  When the lady touched my arm, it wasn’t as awkward as I expected.  The communal prayer had created an atmosphere of peace and expectation, and while I had no great insight, the Word I gave the lady was something from scripture, something encouraging and edifying, so no harm done.

Our leader instructed us to go back and reverse roles.  It was my turn to choose a lady and touch her arm for a Word from God.  I can’t say that I was in any sort of prayerful mood.  Rather than feeling led by God, at the time, I was just trying to minimize the awkwardness of the situation, choose a lady, and get on with my life.  I walked up to a plump white lady in her late 30’s.  She looked like a housewife, dressed in comfortable clothes with a pleasant attitude, very mom-next-door, not an adventurous type, someone comfortable with her husband, 2.2 kids, dog and white picket fence.  When I touched her arm, she opened her eyes with a shock.  Noticeably shaken by what just happened, her hands trembled, and she had a confused look on her face, “Oh, wow, I, uh, it was so clear, I heard, um,” she took a deep breath and spoke slowly:  “My love for you is as wide as the oceans, and so your love will be for others.”  Not quite sure what to do, I awkwardly thanked her and gave her a hug, leaving her to recover from the experience.  I think about those words sometimes, especially now as I prepare to apply to Master degree programs in Washington D.C. for International Development and look for jobs in foreign service. 

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.  Philippians 4:6           

Like I said, my faith walk has had its fair share of ups and downs.  There are times when I feel as far from God as night is from day.  The other day, I was depressed about facing another big transition in my life:  my move from Montevideo back to South Carolina.  I decided to go for a walk on Pocitos Beach to clear my head.  My heart was heavy and my brow furrowed.  I slumped forward and dragged one foot in front of the other.

“God, I feel so fat today.”

I know, not the most eloquent way to start a prayer, but there’s something to be said for starting right where you are, in your thoughts, in your body.  Even if it’s something seemingly trivial that’s on your mind, the verse doesn’t say to bring only the important things to God, it says to bring everything.  So, I started complaining about a relationship:

“I hate feeling like this.  I feel like he doesn’t even care about me.  I know he probably does, but I feel unloved, like I give him my love, and it’s unrequited.” 

Suddenly, it hits me that that’s exactly the way God feels towards me.  He created me to love Him, and I’ve been living my life without Him.  I know His love for me is unconditional, and I’m suddenly overcome by His grace.  Tears come to my eyes as I return to Him:

“Forgive me.  Forgive me for my selfishness and pride.  Thank you for your unconditional love and for your grace.  Thank you for calling me your own.  You are holy, God.  I pray that your Holy Spirit will come now.  Invade my body.  Invade my mind.  I lay my thoughts at your feet.  I lay my life at your feet.”

As I speak, I feel energy coming into my body.  My spine straightens and my face relaxes.  My breath becomes deeper.  I watch a little white dog running as fast as he can on the beach.  He looks up at me with smart eyes and a mischievous little smile on his tiny face, then takes off running as fast as he can.  He jumps on a lady walking by, and she screams out, terrorized by this ten pound fur-ball of joy.  I can’t help but laugh to myself. 

“God, I pray that you will heal my friend of this cancer.  Bring him a rapid recovery.  Be with his doctors.  Give him your peace that passes all understanding.  God, I pray that you will be with my mom and my dad and my brother...”

I think about how Grandaddy used to pray for his grandchildren every night before bed, calling each one by name.  As I walk on Pocitos Beach, wiggling my toes into the sand and looking out over the ocean, I’m overcome with a sense of well-being.  I relax into my God’s transforming love.  It feels good to be home.