For some time now, I’ve had very specific goals for my writing and teaching career. It feels strange to say “career” because those words don’t feel true, not really. I’ve always identified as a stay-at-home mom who dabbles in writing on the side, and so it feels like I’m a child playing fancy dress and calling myself a princess. But, the truth is, I have a graduate degree and I write and teach writing at a university for actual dollars. Not many dollars, mind you, but enough to get my nails done and buy a new pair of shoes on occasion.
My grown-up goals are handwritten on the very last page of the journal I shove daily under my overstuffed green writing chair. I chose the last page so I could tear them out should I change my mind or should I suspect a snooper. They are the secret “breathings of my heart” as the poet Wordsworth would say, and I would be embarrassed should anyone read them.
These breathings are the same ones I’ve prayed over for years, adding one or two over time even while waiting for the first to be answered. Perhaps prayed is an understatement. Begged, pleaded, fasted, wrestled, raged–these are the verbs that make sense in the universe of dreams.
To date, none of my breathings have come to fruition. They are simply an alphabet of desire on a final page.
A few weeks ago, as Michael and I drove home from an evening out, I asked him if he thought God would ever answer my prayers, if some hidden door might suddenly swing open to reveal a passage through to Somewhere. I couldn’t see his face as I drove, so instead I focused on the hulking form of trees lining either side of the road. I flickered my high-beams and leaned forward in my seat, trying to melt the darkness with my aging eyes.
He took a chance at upsetting the delicate balance of this well-worn conversation, and he said, “What if God has already answered? What if this, right here, right now, right where you are, is his answer. You’re already living it.”
I blinked. The beams flickered. Three pairs of deer eyes caught the light and flashed from the tree line. I didn’t have an answer.
I’ve thought about his words every day since then. Perhaps the prayer has been answered and it simply looks different than I expected. I’ve convinced myself that God has said “No”, or at the very least his answer has been an excruciating, extended “Wait”. But, there is a third way.
There is always a third way.
The answer may very well be “Yes”, and yes may be an impressionist’s version of what I hoped would be a realistic, exacting work of art to my nuanced specifications. “For all the promises of God find their Yes in him. That is why it is through him that we utter our Amen to God for his glory.”~2 Cor 1:20. If this is the answer, if this is the yes, then it might be time to acknowledge I’m no longer driving in the dark waiting for Somewhere to appear. Perhaps it has and it is good. It is glorious in its smallness.
While I’ve been tempted to rip out the last page of my journal and crumple it between my fingers, I haven’t yet. This right here may be yes, but the breathings may not be finished yet. Having spent a lot of time with praying people over the years, I’ve learned that sometimes there’s a postscript to the Amen.
