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If there were a trophy for overreacting, I would win. And that’s not to minimize my emotions, which are valid, but to recognize that I have a big mouth and a lot of power when I exert it, and I can get myself in trouble. I always have. Ask my elementary school teachers, and even past friendships.

Prayer

I’m reflecting on yesterday. I was having a work conflict. It felt bigger than it was. There was a part of me screaming to do something. I ruminate. I rustle. I call all my confidants, and finally, after exhausting every other avenue, I pray.

I pray mostly when I want something. God, please help me get this thing.

And I’m not as quick to pray when I actually need it—need help and comfort.

And the prayers that want, they fall on deaf ears. Not because God doesn’t want me to have that, maybe He does, but mostly because it’s all His will anyway. And so my wanting, my desires, don’t always actually match what’s in His plan. And that’s an entire essay for another day.

But the prayers for help and comfort, that, I think, is what God really wants me for. Because that’s what I need the most. On here, in this body, in this world, I need that safety and security that I can only find in communion with God more than anything.

But yesterday, as the little girl who often couldn’t get what she needed unless she was in a rage screamed inside the woman. And I took so long to actually do what I needed. Which was just to pray. Which was to seek comfort in God—truly the only one who can actually give me that.

And I don’t just know that because it’s a spiritual thing people say.

I know that because I’ve exhausted 30 years of trying to get it from everywhere else in my environment, and having it fall flat. I am a realist and a rationalist, and my trial and error has shown me where the world can’t help me

And it’s taken me years to realize this.

It’s taken me three decades to come to prayer rather than seek an external solution.

To know and to find that only the comfort and peace I seek and need is within, and within is with God.

And it’s fascinating, when I actually prayed—God help me, what do I do here—He answered.

And He didn’t just answer later. He answered right away.

Oftentimes, I find I have to wait for God’s response. I have to be patient most days. Especially if I’m asking about something God doesn’t really give a shit about, but I’m too wrapped up in it because of my Ego, or whatever is keeping me from seeing my life in the same way God sees me (perfectly imperfect).

But when I asked God, I got this image:

• He, big and almost cartoon-like, plucked me from my car and plopped me down and patted my being to “just go in”. And He said that, “Just walk in, Valerie.”
  

  Like he already freaking knows everything! Because He does, Valerie.

He already knows exactly what’s happening and can see that it’s not as bad as it feels for me, and if I can just listen for a second, I‘ll see the water is actually still, and the rain isn’t pouring as hard as I thought.

Spirit speaks in images; we know this. And the image was so clear. It comes at you like a dream, dropping into my mind’s eye. I didn’t think it up, but I just sat long enough to listen.

And what a more powerful way to exist in the world. To seek counsel from God when you need it, rather than ruminating and scrambling to find the wisdom in anybody who might have it.

Overreacting

I don’t want to minimize reactions. I don’t want to be reactive, because people’s feelings are valid and they’re real. And they’re really big when they are likely because of wounding. And at 30, I am just stunned at how profound wounding is and how hard it is to overcome.

Even if you work on it with the rigor I do, I still think it will take my lifetime to heal—if ever.

I know that it gets better because I’ve been told it does. And I can see it in others. I can hear their stories of harm and see how they exist today. And I don’t know what they’re like when they’re triggered, but I know it gets better.

And it’s funny to me—I’ve always sought contemplative practices for big emotions—painting, quiet space, reading, etc.—to comfort the younger parts of me that still get triggered.

Because you have to feel the feelings with God. Gosh, how long it’s taken me to know this deeply.

Contemplative practice retrains you to feel safe with God and inside your body. We all carry this safe place in us—and it’s necessary for your most vulnerable parts to be expressed.

What I’ve learned over 30 years, about those parts, is that only God can give us what others can’t. And we have to stop waiting for others to give us what we actually seek within ourselves.

And I hate that it’s so simple. Because it is. It’s truly so simple, it’s painful to an overachiever like me.

It’s just about pausing. Waiting. Listening. Feeling.

Feel everything you need to feel. We’re not gonna be overcome by it because God is big enough to hold it. And it can only move if you let yourself feel it. And it might be big, and it might be scary to others, but to God, it’s nothing.

And if you want to make it more complex, go ahead. When you can’t just do what is simple (often, I can’t or won’t—I resist what is easy), then you’re gonna get a complicated problem to solve, which is: why the heck you’re resisting.

And it’s important to have awareness about that, but ultimately, you just have to push yourself through to the simple thing. The thing that feels so silly because it doesn’t take all your effort and stress and intellect—how attached you are to it!

It’s just letting go.

Love,
Val

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