On Receiving

Will you come with me to my deep dark for a second? To the depths of despair. Have you ever been there. Where all the lights are off, and there’s water up past your ears and you can’t breathe and also don’t want to. And to exist is to fight for your life. To claw and scratch and gasp for air. Exhaustion and fatigue weigh down your eyelids and shoulders and feet, and a thousand concrete slabs pull you down and under. 

Sometimes praying is crying out underwater. Sure that no one hears it, you can yell as loud as you’d like. The water muffles any noise. The sea so deep and so dark, that the prayer drowns and dies as soon as it leaves your lips. Crying and begging until your voice is raw, with your face covered in tears, drool, snot from the open-mouth weeping.  You ever pray like that? When everything is so bleak, you can ask for anything, really. When nothing matters, you can be pretty bold–it’s all make-believe anyway. 

In the depths of my despair. In the deepest of the darks, I prayed desperately. I asked for healing and for guidance and for strength. Little did I know; healing, guidance, and strength would find their way to me. Trickling down for a while, then rushing and flowing over me like fast and wild water. 

After begging the universe, the Divine, for years and a lifetime, a pocket of air escaped my lungs and rose to the surface to be heard by God.  Somewhere, I found the audacity to be surprised my prayers were answered. Confused when my body began to heal. Taken aback when I found answers in the quiet. Truly impressed by my own strength to advocate for myself and make the hardest decisions of my life. 

The Divine took me in like a lost kitten. Fed me and watered me and tucked me under a cozy blanket. Washed me up and brushed me out. 

With newfound and timid trust and confidence, I asked for something a lil extra special–more than food and water and shelter and a band-aid for my wounds. I prayed like a kid with birthday money–instructed specifically to buy myself something sweet or special or pretty. I asked for love. For land. For peace. For growth. For freedom. For some personal things, and some private things. I’ve been hoping for some dreams of mine to come true.

Part of me does it just to see how it plays out. Part of me maybe actually might believe in it? Either way, I find my prayers (manifestations) (hopes) (dreams) falling into my lap. 

I have a hard time believing that I deserve it. That I’m capable of handling it. That it can come without obligations or fine print. 

<<<<<Please excuse me for a moment while I weep and grieve.>>>>>

I guess there’s a lot of weight in being accustomed to the deep dark. To hurt and disappointment and also to some self-sabotage. 

In the deep dark, everything is black. I suppose it’s nearly impossible to see or recognize an answered prayer for the blackness of it all. 

Out of the deep dark, what’s my excuse? As opportunity and gift and people and places come delivered to my door with a bow and a ribbon, I find myself glancing over my shoulder. Is there someone behind me that you want me to hand this to? It’s laughable, really, my unwillingness to receive the good things I’ve spent a year telling myself daily that I deserve. “You deserve good things because you are good.” “I deserve to be taken care of with deep love and gentleness.” “I deserve to be happy and fulfilled.” “I am deserving of love, affection, and gentleness. I give those things to myself because I deserve them.” “I deserve to be taken care of and considered. My wants and needs matter. I am not asking for too much.”–All excerpts from my journal (book) written in the last year. 

I deserve my answered prayers. The ones from the deep dark, from the comfort of my porch swing in the back yard as the sun comes up, from my bed right before sleep. All of them. 

It took a lot–a lot–no really a lot–of bravery to ask for these things. What I am finding now, is that it takes substantially more to receive them.

Lord, make me brave to receive them.