Monthly Archives: August 2012

God Dialogue

In the midst of the trauma of the last five years of my life, I stopped talking to God.  I was overwhelmed with the darkness around me, and I struggled to see where God lived inside of it.  So I stopped the dialogue.  I didn’t question, I didn’t cry out. I simply stopped talking.  I do this in my life, I realize.  I stop or resist conversations that involve emotional risks.  I do not like to let others know they affect me.  But they do.  I.  Am. Affected.  So today I begin a God dialogue again…


It is time for me to be honest, to confess. I want to trust that you are working in all the crazy in my world, but I do not.  I do not trust that you are enough for me and that I will be chosen.  I find myself shaking my proverbial fist in the air and wondering where the hell you are.  Why did you give me this story?  Why do you keep letting it get worse?  When does the suffering turn into redemption?  When does the heartbreak turn into joy?  I begin this dialogue and I am struck that I sound needy and demanding, and I want to tamp that down and denounce it, but that is where I am.  I am in need of a Savior.  I need to be chosen. I am affected.  I am broken and lonely.  And I am starting the dialogue.  



Me: Hello?

Sarah: Hey, Em.  This is going to sound weird, but I think I just saw David’s feet through the back of an ambulance. 

Me: What?  That’s crazy. 

Sarah: I know.  I just thought I should tell ya. 

Me: Thanks, friend. 

Four hours later…I call several local hospitals and finally discover that David, who did not return home from a work happy hour and is not answering his phone, is indeed checked in to the ER.  He was picked up after having passed out in our front yard.  A neighbor called the 911 because she thought it was a medical emergency.  Turns out heavy drinking and psychotropic drugs are not a good mix.  So, I drive in the middle of the night, to the ER to collect my husband.  Looking back on this, I am struck by my not pushing the issue.  I did not question what had led to the events of the night, nor did I harp on his ridiculous appearance or story.  I let it go.  I did not voice my worry.  I did not give voice to the pit in my stomach telling me something was going terribly wrong.  I chose to believe the lie that everything was good.  That he loved me.  That he loved us.  That he would choose to be healthy.  That he would choose me. 


Tonight I found out that my soon-to-be ex-husband is dating my not-so-former yoga teacher.  Really?  Of all of the people to pick to date, he picks someone I know. Someone who has touched my body, has coached my body, has waxed eloquent about enlightment. Really?  Yoga was always my practice – the one hour in a day when my brain would finally stop running and my soul would find some reprieve.  This new coupling pisses me off.  I cannot, in this minute, find any lofty conclusion or justification here.  So I depart.