Ambivilent Friday

I would love to be one of those people who fills her blogs with uplifting praise of God and encouragement to the world. I would also love to be one of those moms who not only do it all, but do it all with alacrity. And the woman who writes a blog one day about all the ways she saves the world with her environmentally friendly lifestyle, then the next day blogs about the super hot date she went on with her husband, then the next day gives great organic recipes, then the next day about crafts, then the next day about how she taught her four week old the alphabet, then the next day about how amazing God is and how deep and wonderful her spiritual life is. Or maybe I wouldn't want to be one of those people...that life sounds exhausting. But sometimes I feel like that's what I'm supposed to be--Superwoman. I've discussed this before, probably ad nauseam. But I've omitted one thing...the spiritual part.

My life with God has been, as it has with most, a roller coaster. There are highs, lows, and everything in between. He is my creator, my savior, my everything. There have been many times in my life when I have had a palpable, potent need for him, and I truly believe that I would most assuredly not be the (almost) sane person I am today without him. A lot has happened in my life that would have sent many people down a spiral of out of control and desperate behavior. I don't claim to be a strong person--but I do claim to have a strong God who has given me his strength and the wisdom to make the right decisions when everything around me was crumbling.

And yet here I stand today, with just about everything I've ever wanted: I'm a wife, mother, teacher, sister, daughter, and friend to the most amazing people that God ever made, and I feel empty. I feel like a hollow shell that simply doesn't have the energy or drive to maintain my relationship with God. Or at least maintain it the way I have in the past. This last week was an example of this disconnect.

Ever since I've been at my church, Rock Harbor, I've gone to Good Friday services. In the 10+ years that I've been there, I've experienced Holy Week in ways that I never knew were possible. Before Rock Harbor I'd never actually been to a Good Friday service; I don't think the church I grew up in held them. But now that I've tasted it, I can't imagine celebrating Easter without it. I can't imagine celebrating Jesus's resurrection without first experiencing the pain and reality of his death. And I can't imagine trying to experience both in one 90 minute service. So for the last several years, Holy Week has been a major event for me. Until now. I should also mention that I have been involved in the production of Rock Harbor's Good Friday and Easter services for the last several years as an actress and dancer (and I use the latter term in a very broad sense). This has enabled me to experience Good Friday and Easter in an entirely new depth. Last year was the first year I haven't participated in a long time (which is weird...I offered to be in it, but for some reason they didn't think watching a six-month pregnant whale dance around in front of tens of thousands of people sounded appealing. Whatever.). It was a struggle for me, but it was good. I was able to really sit back and listen and be fed for the first time in a while. This year was much different. I arrived at Good Friday in a much different state of mind. I wanted to read the book of Matthew and spend time thinking about Jesus' life before really reflecting on his death. Instead I cooked three meals, did laundry, cleaned the house, and carried around a fussy, teething, needy eight-month-old who was just having a really rough day. I was going to take some quiet time during his nap, but he woke up from his nap every 15-30 minutes screaming. So by the time we needed to leave, I was exhausted, frazzled, and I'd read up to half of Matthew 2. And since Ben had napped terribly during the day, I was sure I'd get paged 10 minutes into the service to collect my screaming child. I anticipated sitting through the service staring at the pager nervously, unable to concentrate and really listen. This was not the Good Friday, or the spiritual life, to which I'd become accustomed. It rather felt like my spiritual life had completely evolved into me constantly praying for sleep instead of having a loving conversation with my Creator. And my attempt at Bible Study was simply the next in an eight month cycle of the same. I'm constantly "doing," and when I'm not I'm so exhausted I can barely keep my eyes open much less read the Bible.

To add to my already mounting anxiety, the service we attended was immediately following another. So there were literally thousands of people coming and going in a very small hallway. My crippling claustrophobia and anxiety were exacerbated, and I was near tears. But I persevered. I would have my Good Friday if it killed me.

And I did. Moments into the opening worship, I lost myself in prayer. Well, I don't know if it was so much prayer as it was inwardly weeping and whining at God about how empty, disconnected, and tired I was. The message was good, and I was moved as hundreds took their sins and their troubles and nailed them to the crosses. The pager never went off.

Perhaps I did not lose my spiritual life when I gave birth, as I had supposed. Perhaps it just changed. And for now, perhaps it's okay that in the midst of the "doing" and exhaustion, my Bible study is limited to the nightly readings from the Rhyming Bible for Children, and that my prayers are limited to my whispered pleas for my son as I lay him in his crib at night and my desperate cries for rest and peace. Perhaps I have a God that understands, and that some day, hopefully soon, the disconnect will abate and I will once again feel that overwhelming desire to open my Bible and fall on my knees before Him.