I’m not a religious person although I’ve had affiliation with some churches. My prayers or let me call it my closest connection with God, has not been in churches but out amongst nature, at the beach or on the farm.
I guess I was discouraged as a child praying in church for my mother to get well, a mother who was chronically ill. I didn’t get that concept of praying for God’s will or praying for the understanding and acceptance of what is, nor the strength to endure. That came much later in life.
There were many years that I was angry with God. It took a lot for me to get over losing my Baba to a stroke, seeing her ripped of her dignity, to babbling in a diaper. It still brings me to tears, twenty years later. Why did he not take her that day, but let her linger so long? One might think so when her day had come for her to go to the Lord, I’d be ready. I was no more ready. I was destroyed.
Regardless of my disappointments with God, (where’s the lightning bolts?), I hear Him: sometimes speaking through coincidences, sometimes setting strangers put in my path, as I’ve written: God Speaks Through the Scotsman at the Bar | Aligaeta’s Blog, and sometimes simply with the serenity I feel amongst the beauty, of nature or hope I feel in the passing of a storm.
I’m writing this blog, “In thanks” as I prepare myself to write another Blessing to my memoir. To ease the transition of our move from the Island to the Valley with our sixteen year old son, He didn’t put one child in his path; He put a whole youth group, and a leader to show me the way and give me strength: Insert the story and laughter of Becky. Praise God.
I pray there is a market for my story.