I was silently broken-hearted when I went to get a sandwich at the campus deli. “Life is just a damned vail of tears!” I told the Lord. I ordered my sandwich at the counter, let the words of my own heart sink in, and by the time I left with the sandwich, I remembered a scripture: “But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us.” (2 Cor. 4:7)

How very odd. The God of the universe in our hearts surrounded by our fallen flesh! I remembered a lesson from another time: God is no less God in us for all our infirmities and frailness. Why does He allow disaster in our lives when we know Him already and have turned from evil that His life and goodness may take root in our hearts?

I used to imagine that one day I would have a heart so pure as to make evil obsolete as the means of my transformation. I never thought about evil touching those I care for, though. All about me are those who still need to come to the end of themselves and it kills my soul to watch. “Why this death?” I asked Him.

I called a friend this evening. We both know several people who should be at the end of their ropes but apparently are not. They have created miserable circumstances for themselves and it is difficult not to fear for their safety. My friend asked me, “Why?” I told him I had considered it and realized that some people need destruction — that it is actually the mercy of God in many cases. It is the only way some people will ever call out to God — when they realize that they aren’t powerful enough to ignore the principles of the universe. Consequences, though, are like a double-edged sword. Not only does it cut through the heart of the rebellious ones — it cuts through the heart of the faithful ones who still trust in their own abilities — abilities to fix things, to convince others to “fly right”, and to demand from God the change needed. We, also, come to the end of ourselves and cry out for deliverance.

Prayer takes many forms in my life. Sometimes I pray on beads — because I need them? No. But it’s like in the movies where a woman goes into labor and the doctor or midwife tells someone, “Boil water!” It keeps them out of the way while the drama unfolds. Other times, I don’t care about beads, candles, or anything. I just need to talk to God. Then there are those times that leave me weeping convulsively on the floor. I doubt that any of these methods is better or worse than another. Those are more for us than for God who looks at the heart. But, as humans, we have to do something with ourselves.

I drove home in the evening dusk. I asked Him, “God, how can I really know you? I need to hear you. What does it take to be open to hear Your voice?” I thought about how Jesus experienced the full onslaught of fallen judgment against His divinity. He has already walked this way. Now the spirit of Christ has been released and made available to those who choose Him. Divinity is still walking around in human skin. He knows what it is to be single and lonely, what it is to be married and miserable. He understands the way of a parent with a child and a child with a parent; He knows what it is to be master and slave. He still subjects Himself to the elements of the world until the entirety of the cosmos is subsumed in His kingdom at last. Just as He overcame the world the first time, He still overcomes it today — in our lives.

I remember the quiet moments I used to have with my mother. When I was a little girl we used to sing together. I listened to her talk about the things she valued and believed in — about what was good and just and noble. It affected my outlook profoundly. Even when she said nothing, it didn’t matter. I knew what she thought and what she felt. All it took was a look from her and I knew what she thought about something.

God is like that. That’s what it takes to know Him. Conversations, quiet times, a look, a glance. I spent a lot of my early spiritual life trying to consciously think on Him every spare moment for fear I might lose contact or miss something spiritual. Suddenly today I remembered my mother — a mere human being. It sure wasn’t that hard to know what my mother thought, and I didn’t think on her every minute of the day. Half the time I didn’t think of her at all, but I knew she was there if I needed her. Sometimes she sat me down for a “talking to” and I didn’t want to listen, but I learned to sit still.

It’s the same with God. It doesn’t take staring at Him across the table all day long to know Him. He is fully “family” to those who believe. He is our Father. It only takes a few words here and there and a little conversation each day to know Him. I saw that it’s the same for me when I involve Him in my concerns just like I used to talk to my mother about what I loved, what I hated and what made me sad.

Of course He knows… My mother always did and she was a finite woman. How much more the God of the universe who travels around in our flesh?

Just as important, I see that the “vail of tears” is like an ocean that we travel through, always there no matter how righteous or wicked we are. Sometimes we find elements of beauty in spite of it, but the tears are always there, in our hearts if not our eyes. They may be recently past or shortly up ahead, but they are always waiting. In the end, it doesn’t matter what we feel, for it makes God in us no less God at all. But the one who lets the two-edged sword of anguish cut through the flesh to reveal Christ within is the one who overcomes the world in this lifetime.

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