My brain raced as I sat at my desk, grateful no one else was in the office. I looked at my “to do” list trying to decide where to start. I couldn’t focus. I sat there, overcome by a myriad of separate but equal emotions. Tears ran down my cheeks, salty droplets creating puddles on my blouse. I just wanted answers, clarity. And suddenly I decided to do the only thing I could think to do…I prayed.
Dear God –Today, I’m confused. Today, I’m overwhelmed. Today, my heart is breaking. Today, I NEED You. Today, more than ever. Please God! Please!
That was my prayer. Simple. Honest. No pomp. No circumstance. No mincing of words. I was not on my knees. My head was not bowed. I looked out the window, eyes fixed toward the heavens, tears still streaming down my face.
Please God! Please! My heart ached.
Please God! Please! My spirit screamed.
Please God! Please! Can you hear me?
Please God! Please! Is this mic on? Testing. Testing.
The tears slowed and I laughed a little, realizing my “prayer” was reminiscent of the chorus to the many Blues songs I would wake to as a kid on the Saturday mornings where my mom decided waffles, bacon and eggs sounded good for breakfast. The Blues was the background music that seemed to make everything taste, look and feel better in our house. Suddenly, B.B. King had appeared and was leaning on the credenza in my office, singing with me while strumming his guitar.
Please God! Please!
I stopped speaking, but the song played on in my mind as I wondered if God could really hear my cry. I wondered if the God I was taught to lean on in times of trouble knew my name. I wondered if this God really understood the confusion, the hurt. I wondered if the supplication of a simple woman who didn’t go to church every week, hadn’t read the Bible in ages and who chose to pray while sitting at her desk, or in bed or while driving could really be heard. I wondered if my prayer could be answered in some poetically smooth and quick fashion.
My thoughts were interrupted by the opening of the office door. Quickly, I snapped into reality, realizing the salt of my tears had crystallized on my skin. As I tried to pull myself together, my boss, who was equally my strong leader and loving friend, peeked into my office to offer a “Good morning” greeting.
She saw my face, and without hesitation, put on her “friend hat”. We talked and I cried. We talked more and she cried. She listened and I talked, letting go, at least for a moment, of the sadness. There was no judgment, no pressure to say more or less. There was just love. And as the conversation went on, B.B. King was still leaning on the credenza strumming his guitar.
Please God! Please!
My dear boss and friend listened for as long as I needed. There was no rush to get into the business of the day. When I stopped talking she gave me a warm hug. And in that moment, my heart swelled with peace.
The God I had called on that morning while sitting at my desk was in that moment. The God I had called on didn’t give me the exact answer I was looking for in the moment, but sent a precious angel to hear my cry and be arms of strength, at least for this day.
A caring ear and loving hug let me know God heard me that day. I didn’t pray in the “traditional” way I’d grown up knowing was “right”, but I prayed nonetheless. I am a simple woman, who doesn’t read the Bible often and doesn’t regularly attend church. I am a simple woman who wants nothing more than to be good to others and happy inside. I am a simple woman who wants to honor the love and light God placed inside of me.
My boss left the office, B.B. King just behind her still strumming his guitar, but the words to the song changed a little.
Thank you God! Thank you!
I didn’t have all the answers I wanted. Still don’t. But this simple girl remains hopeful, prayerful. This simple girl still chats with God in my car, on my bed, at my desk…believing, trusting.
Thank you God! Thank you!
Sherry Samuels: Writing: The Final Frontier. Although just entering her mid thirties, Sherry has seen and experienced a great deal in this life and knows the rest of the journey, however long it may be, will be spent writing about the precious (and not so precious) moments. Enjoying everything from opportunities to strut her stuff in her rainbow-colored tutu to a lazy day with a Golden Girls marathon, Sherry really is a touch of sugar, a pinch (or three) of spice and everything (most days anyway) nice. Sherry grew up in the Midwest, has spent the last 13 years becoming a southerner and now looks forward to the potential to take on a whole new region in this great land…or another. Until she starts her blog, you can keep up with Sherry on Facebook.