“Will you write me a letter, God?” I need to feel Grace.
“Of course I will, my child. I was just thinking of you. I am here, holding your hand, whispering in your ear. I thought of your birth. The hope and love that filled the room, and your cries that rang out. I kissed your cheek as they swaddled you and you cooed and were placed into your mothers arms. I knew so much of your life and some of the dreams and hopes and the tragedies and mistakes. I loved you. I thought of you as a child. I smiled at your radiance. I laughed with your joy. I giggled at your antics. Still, you didn’t know me or about me. It didn’t matter, I still loved you. I knew you. You were mine. I watched you struggle as a teenager. I saw you feel as if you didn’t fit in. I saw you try and try to be like everyone else. I saw the sarcasm develop, and the coating that would keep you from crying. I saw you think you were protecting yourself and trying to get closer to people as you pulled away. I grieved with you. I was there. I loved you then, too.
I saw the college years and medical school years. I saw you turn to alcohol for “liquid courage.” I saw the dating as conquest era. I saw the pain, isolation, and regret. I saw the desperation in trying to connect and heard your heart cry. I saw you get accomplished at turning tears into anger. I saw you protect yourself with sarcasm and cynicism. I saw you hide. I loved you then, too.
I saw you get baptized. I saw you date your wife. I saw you try and understand religion. I understood that you didn’t really understand a relationship with Me. I knew it was superficial, but I celebrated that you were just that much closer. I saw the doubt in your soul about your marriage. I felt the pain of isolation and rejection that you felt. I saw you pretend it wasn’t there and put up a brave façade. I saw you try, fail, and then drink to escape. I saw you crumble into yourself. I wept. I loved you then, too.
I rejoiced when you asked me for help. When the pain and desperation was met with no other plan or scheme. I wept with you about your sister and had with your mother as well. I held you that day and many others before and after. I whispered in your ear, maybe even a bot too loud. I led you to AA and to your sponsor. I knew it would change your life path, but you needed a new path. I giggled at your antics in AA. I giggled as you faked that originally, and memorized eloquent words of other scholars. I knew it would come. It did. You let down some of the walls and I rushed in. You sought the relationship I had always been there for. I infused, I breathed, I rejoiced. You wanted to be Home. I loved you then, too.
I grieved with the continued pain of insecurity and lack of intimacy. I cheered you on as you came back to life and asked for your needs to be met. I grimaced as you tried to find it in other ways. I wept as you texted and left to meet her at Starbucks. I cried when the police were there and the life you had crumbled. I mourned the loss of family and friends with you. I comforted you with other friends, your sponsor, your group. I walked with you, sat with you, grieved with you. I loved you then, too.
I was proud of you as you confronted yourself. I placed my hand on your shoulders and stood by you as you navigated the journey through the labyrinth of your mind and soul. I helped clean the garden in your heart. I felt your pain. I felt your sorrow. I felt your tears and insecurity. I loved you then, too.
I have such wonderful things for you. They look nothing like you think they will. I have such dreams for your heart to soar, your soul to expand, and for us to frolick. I dream of how I am going to fill your life and who I am going to have your life touch. I love you now and later, too.”