Hey, God? Are You There?

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Does God exist? If so, is He listening to me? Is he paying any attention to my life or the stuff that's going on in the world? Does He still speak to people - would He actually speak to me? If He did, what would that look like? A voice? A dream? A verse that pops out of the bible? A spoken word from a friend or a prophetic prayer from a complete stranger? How would I know?

How often do you wonder if God is really listening to your prayers? Do you think He is somewhere way up in the sky far, far away just kind of letting everything go on without really caring much about it? Maybe picking and choosing someone here to scold, someone there to put on a pedestal? Maybe stirring up the clouds with his finger to watch the storms swirl. Maybe giving a little push with his pinky in this spot of the world or that as if he gets a kick out of watching us little humans acting proud as peacocks or falling flat on our faces?

I used to wonder if God really cared. I actually thought that He really was just waiting for a chance to squash me with his gigantic thumb. I tried desperately to do good, work hard, give my 110% so that He might be pleased instead of disappointed. As an adult I became a workaholic in the process. Granted, much of my desire to please came from being

criticized and abused as a child. Gradually my desire to please my earthly father became a habit of trying to live up to my own unreachable standards. I started project after project, each one for noble purposes; to help ease the financial burden on my husband, to teach our children a good work ethic, to provide healthy food & products for our family, to serve others… My life became so filled with projects that I forgot the reasons behind each one. I was falling asleep driving before I even got 5 minutes down the road to town. My kids were complaining that I was too busy. I dreamed that I was sitting in church cutting my hair bit by bit with nail clippers. About that time, our family was attending a Home Church on Sunday nights. During one of our meetings, we talked about when we first felt that God was REAL - when

we first felt His presence. I remembered a time when my parents were having one of their scary fights.

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I was about fourteen. Dad had made a gigantic pile of chopped wood, and continued to angrily chop away as he stood on top of the pile. I had escaped the dark cloud inside the trailer that was our home and blocked out the thudding of the ax behind it when I walked outside on this beautiful fall day. The sun was beaming down, making the leaves glitter as they floated down in the breeze. I stood just at the edge of the golden woods, closing my eyes to absorb the warmth of the sunlight on my face. My long hair tossed loosely as the wind swirled, almost as if it encircled only me. It was the most comforting of all hugs, as if God Himself was putting His gentle arms around me and whispering, “I AM here, I see you, I hear you, you are not alone.” I wanted to stay right there in that moment forever.

I was always one of the odd ones in school. I went to 6 elementary schools in four provinces

across Canada and 3 high schools in 3 different towns in Ontario. I didn’t have many friends due to moving so often, and I didn’t really want to fit in with any crowd. My mom had always told me that Jesus was holding my hand everywhere I went, and I took that seriously. Even so, I had such a low self-esteem because of my father’s abuse that I was easily flattered and attracted to the wrong boys. I was very blessed to have been rescued from one very dangerous relationship by the Chorus Director at the Christian School I attended during my last 2 years of high school. This man became my father figure and eventually performed my husband’s and my wedding.

After my first year of college, during a six-week summer mission trip I received only one letter in the first week. Near the end of my time there I had a dream about my family - my dad and baby sister were in a red sports car with the top down, laughing and living the high-life, but my mom was missing. I awoke very disturbed and wrote a letter to my dad about the dream, trying to encourage his faith in the Lord. I don’t remember any other details now. When I returned to the U.S. I was afraid to call home, even though I had not

heard from anyone in 5 weeks.

I mustered up the courage to pick up the phone in my dorm room, hoping that my fear would be unfounded and mom would answer excitedly with questions about my trip. Unfortunately it was dad. Alone. I pictured him standing in the dark by the phone on the wall. He was silent, short, and uninterested. I finally asked him where mom was and he said, “I don’t know.” My dream flooded back.

Hey, God? Was that YOU who gave me the warning?

A year or so later a close friend of the family told me that dad had given her my letter to read

and she was floored. She told me it was “uncanny” considering I could not have known any of the information I wrote about. Mom had left my dad after writing that one letter to me and didn’t tell him where she was going. I found her at her sister’s house. The dream HAD been a warning – preparing my heart for what was to come when I returned from my mission trip.

An intense loneliness filled my heart after that call with my dad. I was living in my empty college dorm in the summer and no longer had a place to call “home”. Holidays and special events would never be the same. Where would I go when my 2nd year of college was finished? I absolutely could NOT live with my dad in the shack he was not finished building where our burned-down house was. Mom didn't even have a home of her own.

Hey God? Are you there? Why would YOU give ME a warning in a dream? I'm NOBODY.. but I didn't somehow conjure it up myself. So, if you're really listening, what do I do now?

To be continued...