Are You Painting Your Masterpiece with My Pain?

Honest Prayers for The Darkest Times

Dear God,

I was making a list of things I know for sure, but when I went to write “God loves me,” I couldn’t — it felt like a lie. I believe You love me, but I don’t know it. I think You do. Your book says You do, but I guess in the back of my mind I see You as a giant Zeus — a despot in the sky. You knew Eve would eat the fruit. You created the tree. You allowed the Holocaust.

Have You heard the phrase, “With friends like you, who needs enemies?” I suppose that’s why I find trusting You so hard. Jewish families in 1941 trusted You.

• You said, “My ways are higher than your ways and My thoughts are higher than your thoughts,”* and I believe You, but I still brace myself for suffering I won’t understand.

I believe You have a plan, but are You painting Your masterpiece with my pain?

Love. I don’t know what that means. I don’t know that You love me, and I suppose I don’t know if I love You either. I fear You and I respect Your power, but I’m afraid Your next move will take another chunk out of me.

What’s love got to do with us?

Me

*

Dear God,

Help me have the faith of a baby bird, a small child, an old woman. Speak to the fear in my soul so that it might recognize Your voice, wake up, rise, thrive. Do something other than hide in the dark.

Me

*

Dear God,

After this life is all over, I have a fantasy about spending time alone with You amongst the stars, maybe sitting together in some black-glow nebula. Not talking much, just relaxing. Taking it all in. I’d be done asking for things, and You’d be done making life intentionally difficult. I want to enjoy You for once. Bask in Your presence without needing a thing. Maybe You’d tell me some crazy stories. I know You’ve seen some stuff. I know there will be a long line of people more deserving than me of time alone with You, but please pencil me in. Anytime, really.

Love,

Me

*

Dear God,

Some days, I’m so tired. Today was one of those days. I slept okay. Ate normally (badly, but I’m used to it by now) and had enough water (coffee, there’s water in coffee). It’s a deep body fatigue, and I know where it comes from. Some days, a lot of days, I carry around not only my body but memories I’d like to forget. They stick to me like tar and demand I watch a giant movie screen of my psyche on repeat. They take human form and talk to me, God. Interrogate me. Challenge my right to exist. Challenge me to look in the mirror without deep shame.

Are these demons? Or are they a mixture — a soup of memory and emotion come alive, powered by my fear?

Getting through these days is like walking with ankle weights, wrist weights, a neck weight — You get the idea.

By sunset, my eyelids hang down, and I’m faking everything. I’ve tried to banish these ghosts with drinks, food, entertainment — nothing works the way talking to You does. But sometimes I give in and become a willing, desperate audience to their enactments of my worst moments, their indictment of me.

Make them stop.

Love,

Me

*

Dear God,

I asked for help. I reached out and told the truth, and someone was there. Is that why you created Eve? You knew humans were no good left talking only to animals and plants? That we’d need another to hold the candle when ours goes out? Thank you. I don’t know if my faith has been restored, but at least I remember what it’s like to believe. I feel a warmth that wasn’t there before.

Me

*

Dear God,

I can feel your compassion surrounding me. In these moments when I feel your gentle eye on me, I know you’re my father, and I’m not afraid. Stay.

Me

Excerpted with permission from Dear God by Bunmi Laditan, copyright Bunmi Laditan.

* * *

Your Turn

Have grace with yourself and offer your most honest prayers to God in your darkest days. He can handle them. Do you think you’ve been completely honest with Him about what’s going on inside your heart? Do you think you’ve been completely honest with yourself? ~ Devotionals Daily