If Not For Sunday

Everyone who embarks upon writing does so for a reason.  My reason for this blog is a desire to open a world of understanding about building a relationship with Jesus.  I wish to help others find a peace that I feel can only be acquired by seeking knowledge.  I certainly do not have all the answers, but I feel my journey has been one that has brought me closer and closer to God, and I hope that the words I write might jumpstart emotions that may being laying dormant in the reader’s heart. 

 One of my biggest fears in starting this blog, is that some of those out there, reading my thoughts, might perceive me to think I am a preacher, or out to save the world.  I am not.  I am a sinner, just as each and everyone out there reading this is.  I stumble each and every day.  Yet I  have perservered through many trials in order to keep trying to climb that mountain, where God awaits me at the top.   Despite my best efforts, I will need His arm outstretched to pull me up that last distance.  My sins will always keep me from reaching the top by myself, and I know I need His assistance,  His forgiveness, and His compassion to pull me that last distance, knowing that I tried.  I did my best. 

 I fought a true relationship with Jesus for a long, long time.  For two reasons.  The first was that although I had been raised as a Christian, I had, like most of us, kind of blended Jesus, God, and Santa Claus together.  In my youth I did not know the true meaning of prayer, or of a relationship with someone I could not see.   I believed in God, and Jesus Christ.  I was grateful for Jesus dying on the cross, and hoped He saw me good enough to go to Heaven when I died.  I mostly prayed to Him when I needed something.  “God, let me pass this test”.  “God, please let Kevin, or Mark, (or whoever I had set my sights on to be my boyfriend) take notice to me, and ask me out”.  “God, if you dont let my mom find out what I did, I promise never to do it again”.  This pretty much summed up my relationship with God.  I called out to Him when I needed Him.  Quite frequently, I believed my prayers were answered.  So this was pretty neat.  I had my own personal Santa Claus, who I could come to and ask for stuff, and it usually worked out for me.  I tried to be good, and like Santa Claus always did, I would be rewarded for being a good, kind person.  I was a Christian, and proud of it. 

 Then, when I was in my early twenties, my father passed away.  Suddenly, and out of nowhere, my Dad, who was in the process of raising nine children, had worked so hard for his family, and was loved by so many, was gone.  I was so angry at God.  How could he do this to me, to us, such a loving family?  I was mad at Him, and thought He had betrayed me.  A year later my younger sister died, and I was devastated.  Where had He been in all of this?  I decided I was done with Him.

Despite my best attempts to avoid a relationship with Him, it wasn’t long before my humanity prompted me to still call on Him, for needs I wanted fullfilled in my life.  I would often plea bargain with Him, make promises stating that if only He would answer my prayers I would change things about myself, and sometimes even would find myself so angry that I would argue with Him, lashing out in my frustration and disgust over why He never seemed to hear me.  Then, one day, I was talking to a priest, who was friendly with my family, and I confessed to arguing, no, actually yelling at God, on occassion.  I waited, with my breath held, in anticipation of this priest calling down a lightning bolt to strike me for having the audacity to yell at my Creator.  Instead, he smiled.  He explained that although he would not recommend yelling at God very often, it was more normal that we might imagine.  He said that yelling at God means only one of two things.  You are either crazy, because you talk or yell, at imaginary people, or you have already accepted God’s existence as a given.  Wow, I had never looked at it that way.  This man went on to explain that in the same way we understand when our children argue with us, our Father, in Heaven, knows that our words are just frustration because we do not understand.   As a parent, we see the big picture, and know our child is simply lashing out.  I was able to connect to this analogy because I had three children.  I recalled many times when I had to punish one of my children, or deny them something they wanted, and I knew they were angry with me.  But being the parent, the wiser person, who protects and cherishes her child, I was able to ignore the tantrum that might ensue, knowing that the anger would pass, and my child would come to understand how deep my love is for them.  My child’s anger never once caused me to love them any less.  It was then and there that I was able to understand that I wasnt having a problem with religion because God was ignoring me.   I was having a problem with religion because I was still missing links that would make me able to see what His role is in my life, and what mine is in His creation.

With this newfound knowledge that God was probably not ignoring me, I set out to find the missing links.  I realized now that it was my lack of understanding that was causing a gap in my connection with Him.  First I had to accept that He was not Santa Claus.  I knew I had to work to try to develop a relationship with Him.  Not just on Sundays, not just when I needed Him for something, but a relationship that would grow and hopefully mature through time and understanding.  I first tried reading the Bible.  That did not work very well.  I started on page one, and was lost by page  nine.  I was reading things like ‘Esau, begotten of…..’, and words like Edomites, Caananites, Naphtali, Issochar… I was lost!  I felt like I was reading a never ending lineage, where I should grab a piece of paper and start creating a family tree, because somewhere down the road, there might be a test.  I read things like “Look under the rock whence ye are hewn” (Isaiah 51, 1-2).  What did that mean?  I was overwhelmed, felt even more substandard, and decided that the Bible was not the way for me to learn.

So, I believe it was the Holy Spirit in me, working to help me on my path to a relationship with God, that turned me in another direction.  I made a decision that I would simply spend time with Jesus every day.  A set time, each and every day, and chose that time to be when I dropped my children off at school.  I would turn off my radio, imagine Jesus next to me, in the passenger seat, and we would sit a spell and have a good visit.  Immediately, a warm feeling would envelope me.  I talked to my Great Passenger, expecting nothing.  I spoke to Him about my hopes, my dreams, my fears, and my pain.  I began to notice things while He was in my car.  The beautiful landscape around me became even more beautiful, since I knew my passenger had a hand in it.  I would get cut off by someone in front of me, and would not be as quick to anger.  I realized that this person most probably did not do it on purpose, and so was just ever so glad that it hadnt caused an accident.  I also realized that I, too, sometimes cut people off without realizing it.  I was learning tolerance, kindness, patience, and compassion.  All because of who I knew was in my passenger seat.

I loved my time in the car, and saw changes in myself that I had never thought possible.  The strangest thing started happening.  This wonderful, dear friend, who sat with me in the quiet times, during my ride in the car, started following me out of the car.  He seemed to find entrance into my home, my yard, my shopping expeditions, everywhere.  Had He chosen to follow me, or had I chosen to invite Him into other areas of my life?  Time has shown me that He has always wanted to be with me, I just had needed to want to find Him.