Whether you’re an addict or the partner of an addict, addiction – even just life challenges in general – can take you away from the center of yourself, from the core of who you are. It’s easy to get distracted, consumed, or obsessed with the pressures and requirements of life. Emotions or experiences like shame and loneliness, which historically were core issues for me, can quickly damage the sense of self and rob the heart of joy. In recent decades a kind of antidote to this damage has been a resurgence of contemplative practices like mindfulness or yoga, as well as specifically religious routines such as centering prayer, meditation, or Lectio Divina. These spiritual disciplines are constructive ways to re-center, re-ground, renew. At different times I’ve found all of them helpful.
In recent years I’ve developed a new habit: I begin each day connecting with a loving God through asking a series of three questions and listening for the answers. I don’t remember how I came up with the questions or exactly when I started, although it was generally around mid-2020 as the pandemic unfolded. I do know that these questions have become powerful in connecting me with myself, which helps connect me more deeply with God. I find that this kind of journey within is at the heart of spiritual health and growth.
All three questions are directed to God and almost always result in a kind of internal spiritual conversation, like you would have with a trusted friend.
The first question is Will You be discernibly present with me today? To salve my lifelong loneliness and feeling of being unchosen, I ask for a felt sense of God’s presence – usually phrased as asking God to show up tangibly in a way that I immediately recognize as divine. This sought sense of the Presence isn’t like Gideon’s asking for a sign in terms of a specific request that will point to a particular path or outcome. (See the story in Judges 6: 29-40.) It’s simply a plea for a visceral sense of God’s abiding presence — something that is way beyond cognitive recognition or theological belief.
I’ll always remember my first session with a spiritual director close to a dozen years ago. I poured out my story of traumatic losses and challenges, along with my attempts to assuage them and how intractably painful they remained most of the time. The director listened empathetically, but what I remember most is her promise: “Marnie, we can’t go back and undo these things or even take away their painful sting. But I know that we can help you not feel so alone in the pain.” For me, the result of pleading for God’s presence in asking this first spiritual question has been the fulfillment of that promise.
Most days I do receive the grace of some specific happening that quickens my spirit with the immediate recognition, “Ah, there is God!” It often has something to do with nature, where I’ll see a hawk or redbird or deer or beautiful cloud or moon and know in my bones that it was presented in that moment by God. Sometimes, it comes in the form of a human interaction, where out of the blue I get an encouraging email or call or comment about how my story or work or presence has helped someone. Often, I realize that simply the settled state I’ve enjoyed through the day, the absence of anxiety or angst or longing, has been certain evidence of God with me. The best thing about this question is that even if I don’t recognize something specific during that day, I have spent it watching for God’s presence. Ironically, in what may seem like the absence of a fulfillment of this first request, I have been aware of the constant connection between God’s heart and mine.
The second question is Will You help me? This one is based on the teaching we share at every Bethesda Workshop from the story of the man at the pool of Bethesda who needed help and received it from Jesus in a way very different from what he expected. (See the account in John 5.) The verb here is will and not can, because the issue isn’t God’s ability to help, but my willingness to stand open-handed in vulnerability, humility, and curiosity, willing to accept the (usually unexpected) way that God provides assistance.This question is targeted with a specific request, though – a particular item for which I’m petitioning help. The needs range from something simple like a routine “be able to schedule a plumber quickly” to hugely important things like a weighty challenge in a relationship or business situation. Maybe the help needed is with letting go of something or someone – with surrendering to a process or outcome. Often these last months my frequent request has been for help for my health issues, as I continue to struggle significantly with long Covid symptoms.
Regardless of the petition, I refrain from detailing what the help should look like. This limitation has been a huge challenge that I still often find difficult. (Surely, I’m not the only one quick to provide instructions for God.) I’d much prefer (and in fact often start out with) suggesting a specific answer that I’m seeking – what I think is success about something, or a particular resolution. In retrospect, I see that God’s often surprising answer is always much wiser (and usually much more out of the box) than whatever I was envisioning.
On the extremely rare days when a specific request doesn’t quickly come to mind, I ask for help in trusting God more. Despite God’s clear presence and provision, I admit that trust remains a frequent struggle.
The third question is Will You give me a desire of my heart? This one, again, is followed by specifics, by particular longings. Many of the desires are related to the requests for help; others are deeper and more personal. To my surprise, this question today remains the hardest one for me. As long as I’m aware, I’ve been ashamed of my needs and my desires. Recovery taught me that needs were God-given and holy and crucial. But desires? Somehow I learned that desires were selfish and greedy and egotistical. I thought that following Jesus meant giving up your personal desires, that surrendering them was somehow godly and pious.
Yes, for sure, some desires can be selfish, unhealthy, or unwise. But all of them? I no longer believe that. The human longing for intimate connection with a life partner isn’t wanting too much. That deep desire is part of being made in the image of a God who is in total communion within the Godhead and with humans made alive with God’s breath – souls created in and for relationship. Desiring release from all the responsibilities for Bethesda Workshops, which after decades had become physically and emotionally crushing, wasn’t selfish. It was my heart’s invitation to trust God for a plan to extend the ministry far beyond what I was able to do.
Speaking my desires out loud to God, though, was a huge stretch. I might cry in the dark about them, but it felt wrong to address them with God. I had a strong conviction about confessing sins, but expressing desires went against my spiritual grain. I was afraid of displeasing God by giving voice to what I wanted. One day it hit me that, of course, God was aware of my desires anyway, and to attempt to hide or ignore them was like the dog believing he can’t be seen when he’s put his head under the bed. God longs for the totality of my heart, and yours. Ask away!
I follow my requests for the fulfillment of a desire of my heart with the affirmation that what I long for most is an abiding, deep connection with God. I find this ending an important declaration of faith and surrender, as well as a reminder of what is most important in my core.
As this new year begins, I hope that you have a regular personal spiritual practice. If you don’t, perhaps these three questions may be a helpful starting point.
Marnie C. Ferree — Founder, Bethesda Workshops