running out of bullets

"Help" is a prayer that is always answered.  It doesn't matter how you pray -- with your head bowed in silence, or crying out in grief, or dancing.  Churches are good for praying, but so are garages and cars and mountains and showers and dance floors.  Years ago I wrote an essay that began, "Some people think that God is in the details, but I have come to believe that God is in the bathroom."  Prayer usually means praise, or surrender, acknowledging that you have run out of bullets.  As Rumi wrote, "there are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground."  I just talk to God.

Anne Lamott, Plan B: Further Thoughts On Faith

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I am LOVING this book.  A great gift from a good friend who had mercy on my soul enough to know that it was going to KILL me to wait for it's print in cheaperback.

Running out of bullets.  I'm there.  Have been for a while now.  I simply ran out of bullets.  Feeling cornered, I started chucking rocks.  Ran out of rocks.  Then I started throwing whatever I could get my grubby paws on.

Then I ran out.

There's a point when the last of your fight leaves you; there's simply nothing left.  It's a terrifying place to be: empty, defenseless.

Unless, of course, you've been fighting God.  I've been shaking my fists at him, saying he didn't live up to his end of the deal.  Screaming that he owes me something for all the hard work I've put in.  Crying that he's an unfair parent who must not care; that this "this hurts me more than it hurts you" stuff is a load. That I'm sick of having things not work out in a way that looks anything remotely like success.

God hadn't given me what I wanted (a certain job, certain living situation, etc.), when I wanted it... and it was just beyond me to believe that maybe there was something better in store; that perhaps he was God, not me, and I should just shut up and hold on for a second.  Let the shooting begin.

God, quite maddeningly, didn't shoot back, and I eventually ran out of bullets, emotions, criticisms, rants, whatever.  I eventually ran out of things to say. 

Empty and defenseless is sometimes the best place I can be, when it comes to God.  I'm acutely aware I need something to fill the void that has become my weary heart, and I don't have so much as a single brick to build up some walls with, to try to tell him where he can and cannot go.  It's all his territory for once, because I'm a bit too weak and a bit too tired to even begin to raise a fuss.

After the cease-fire, there was a silence.  A few days of it.

And then, "Help."

And then, "Help."

And then, "God I need you."

And then, "God, I'm sorry."

And then, "God, help me trust you."

And then, and then, and then.  I quit shooting and started praying.  They're not super-spiritual prayers, mind you.  I just talk to God.  About what I feel like I need, how I'm scared I might be wrong, how I really deep-down want my life to please him, how the anger has scared me, how my heart's been achy lately, how I need some help to learn how to talk to him before I reach the point when it has to start out as a shouting match... I just talk to God.  I know my prayers aren't very impressive.  Or holy or spiritual giant-y.

I just figure, right now, they're enough.   

What's even better -- I figure, he's going to answer.  In his time, he'll answer, and that's always enough.

*Thanks to those who've been patiently dispensing grace this past few weeks.  You've been Jesus with skin on, and my heart thanks you.