I had the most amazing summer of my life last year. I blogged about it in a series called Summer School. All summer long I felt like God was taking me by the hand and showing me amazing works and wonders, each lesson more stunning than the last. It was a breathtaking time, one filled with deep and profound spiritual growth. I was so glad that God made me aware of it in the moment because all too often these realizations only come after the fact. But it was as if God was saying ‘Here, Nicole. Now. Be awake; be aware. Be present.’ And I was.
Summer ended, school started, and I was so looking forward to this school year, my first with all three of my kids in school. I sat ready, eager, pen poised to write at His command. Finally, I thought, no distractions, just me and Your will. I will do as You please!
In return I have gotten silence. Deafening, disturbing silence. At first I didn’t notice and just kept squeaking along. (My apologies for everything I wrote after September of last year.) I was forcing it all, trying to make my words be coherent and meaningful. They were neither. After a few months, the silence I heard from God threw me into a sullen depression. I was in a very cross mood for… oh, three months or so. (Sorry, Rusty. Sorry, kids. Sorry, world.)
I argued with the silence. (What do You WANT from me?) I felt ashamed of the silence. (What have I done to offend You?) Then, I returned the silence. (………….) Where it had so recently been so very easy, it is now uneasy between my redeemer and me. And I have no idea why.
So this silence has led to my silence. I have long held that no blogging is better than bad blogging, and lately there has been nothing good.
But this thought occurred to me tonight: I am so very uneasy with this silence. I am so very uncomfortable with His absence. Ironically, though, this is where I am drawing my comfort. You know when you hurt yourself seriously, like a sprained ankle or something, and there is extreme discomfort to walk on it, but relief at that pain, because your ankle still works? That’s how this feels right now. I don’t like that I feel so uneasy about God right now. But I like that I am uneasy about Him. It means that whatever is going on, it isn’t permanently damaged. It still works. It’s still there.