Honest Prayer

Like many Christians I’d memorized verses such as “all things work together for good” and “give thanks in all circumstances (Rom 8:28, 1Th 5:18). When bad things happened, I’d quote these verses, thank God for the good He would work, and push away questions. Trying to trust God, I did something akin to closing my eyes, putting my hands over my ears, and saying, “Lalalalalal—just have faith—lalalalalala.”

After a second trimester miscarriage, I dutifully did these things and refused to think about problems. I thought I was fine. I didn’t feel angry at God; actually, I didn’t feel anything towards God. That concerned me, but I dismissed it as emotional exhaustion.

But when I noticed I was often mad over minor matters, I wondered if I were angry with God.

I looked up “anger” in my Bible’s concordance to see how God might respond. I found that He is slow to anger and full of understanding and compassion. I found too that God expects me to be patient and forgiving towards others’ anger, so that must be what He’s like.

I decided that if I were angry with God, He already knew it so I may as well talk to Him about it—not with a raging heart, like the fool in Pr 19:3, but in the same way I might talk to anyone whose actions I didn’t understand but whom I knew dearly loved me.

I headed out to a deserted schoolyard and prayed, “I think I might be mad at you, God.” I listed what bothered me (the things I’d been refusing to think about) and quickly discovered I was mad—really mad.

I admitted everything I was angry about, even the minor things such as, “Now I can’t enjoy a future pregnancy!” I disclosed every fear: “How will I face those church members who think my loss was due to lack of faith?” I asked every question: “How could you let something bad happen when I’m Your child?”

Surprisingly, such honest prayer helped three ways.

First, some issues resolved immediately. No sooner were the words out of my mouth about not being able to enjoy a future pregnancy than I realized the complaint wasn’t valid—irritation over not enjoying something is merely peevish.

More importantly, when I demanded, “Everyone else can have children; why can’t I?” I instantly realized my error. Many women cannot have children; some also have no husband. Ignoring my secret thoughts had kept me believing a lie and thinking God was denying me a right—and that was the basis of my anger.

Second, the fact that some issues resolved immediately gave me hope the others could resolve too. I still hurt, but now I had peace.

Third, the still unresolved questions were now exposed so I could seek answers. Before I had felt as if a craggy, deep red and black mountain had plunged onto the path before me, its height insurmountable and its dark shadow engulfing me. Now I felt as if the mountain were gone. Ahead my path approached a manageable hurdle, then another, then eventually it climbed a small beige hill and in the distance a larger hill behind which the sun shone brightly, lighting my way.

The difference between how I was attempting to trust God before and after may seem subtle, but the effects were significant. Before, I was closing my eyes lest something be exposed that weakened my faith. But while closed eyes can’t see problems, neither can they see God. When I opened my eyes and took questions and problems to God rather than ignoring them, I began to find answers and understand God better. Instead of weakening, my faith in God’s goodness grew. I still quoted verses and trusted God over what I didn’t understand, but out of faith rather than fear. I was searching for understanding “as for hidden treasures,” and was beginning to find it (Pr 2:4-6).

Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. Psalms 139:23 

You can read more about contentment with life’s circumstances in my article, Journey of Childlessness, on www.Kyria.com.