I grew up thinking we were supposed to pray TO God. I ended up doing all the talking for the vast majority of my life. Looking back on it, I think it silly that I am the one always talking to God, the creator life and redeemer of mankind.
I was doing the talking when I asked God to reveal himself to me. I wanted to see God, not in the literal sense, but to begin to understand God’s ways, to hear his voice, to grasp for what I purpose I existed. I never thought a prayer like that could cause pain because I was a pretty good person.
I attended church 3 times a week. I knew the doctrine and could tell people why I was a member of that church based on what others said. I grew up in a faith that leaned on “pattern worship” or doing things the way they were done in the first century. Well, we did some of the stuff that fit our cause at the least. I looked the part and said the right things and volunteered to help so I never stopped to think that God would want to start stripping away all the stuff I was holding up as idols in my life. I never thought what it would feel like and look like and how it would make me feel.
I didn’t expect asking God to reveal himself to me could ever lead to nights of no sleep and full of tears. I didn’t expect to find myself screaming at God at the top of my lungs using words that I wasn’t supposed to use to talk to my worst enemy.
I never expected the scars I would incur and begin to carry in the days and years to come.
Grace and peace.