A Nighttime Prayer

O Lord, my Beloved,

I fear I can’t write or speak elegantly just now. All I know is raw emotion. 

I feel like I am losing my greatest treasure, somehow, like what I hold dear is slipping through my fingers and there’s no way I can possibly grasp it. 

How much will You require? How hot of a furnace can I withstand, as You purify and refine me? How many waves must sweep over me during my time in this shadowy land? How many deserts will you require me to traverse? I wouldn’t choose the fire on my own. Or the waters. Or the wilderness. I don’t want any of it. Or...at least...I don’t think I do. 

I want balmy beaches and sun-soaked mountains and vivid prairie sunsets. I want a few wispy clouds and perhaps a gentle rain shower now and then, but only when absolutely necessary. I want a cozy cabin for two; to be Together every moment, to grow things and explore places and soothe one another; I want to sing and pray over my beloved, to make delicious foods and drinks that will satisfy. I want to chop and stack wood, and sit by the fire, bodies intertwined, reading aloud in the quiet, smiling gently with knowing eyes. I want to give myself, all that I have and am and ever will be. I want to know and be fully known. I want perfect Love, Together. And I want it all now.

How childish! How foolish, O my soul! 

I can feel myself bucking against You and I hate that. I don’t want to be at odds with You. I know you are Good, truly. I just...what, beloved? I just...don’t want to wait. It always comes back to that, doesn’t it, Father? Always comes back to my inner battle with Time? I hate Time. I know I shouldn’t. But I do. 

Why Time, Lord? I know, I know...consider the young maple tree, beloved. You’re right. You’re always right. She needs maturing, doesn’t she? She’s not all she might One Day be yet, clearly. For she is weak and helpless and of little use as of yet. One Day, she might grow to be more, so much more, I pray.

I’m sorry for my aching heart, Lord, sorry for my tears of self-pity. I should be submitting to You, willingly, gladly, and instead, I am pouting, again. O, when will I ever learn? I grow weary of myself, beloved. How can you not also grow weary of me?

Why do I feel like all is lost? Or will soon be? I battle fear all the time, beloved. Fear of losing that which my heart treasures so, my cherished one. I couldn’t bear it, do you know? Surely He will not ask such a thing? Surely not? Not that fire. Not those waters. Not that wilderness. Not my beloved. I beg You.

I’m sorry, Lord. For all of this. For all of me that fights and bucks against You. If it’s any consolation, I hate it too, as You must, yes? I’m sorry for my tears when I should be rejoicing. I’m sorry for my endless asking when I should be content with what You have given already. I’m sorry for my fear and lack of trust in You, when You have promised that You are a Wise King, a Good Shepherd. Please forgive me? Please? 

I feel like I should end with some great revelation or with a word of forced praise or something, but the truth is, I’m still weeping and I still don’t want to submit and do it all Your way. I want to want that, but I don’t; not yet. 

How stubborn and mule-headed you are, O child! You flail about and kick and scream at all hours of the night, like now, when you should be sleeping! When will you learn to rest? To trust? To allow yourself to be carried and gently tended to? Is that really so hard? To have Someone else do all the work, while you hunker down in arms of Love? No, beloved. That’s not hard. I want that, actually. To be cared for in that way. To rest. To be at peace. I do want that. And that is what You’re offering, isn’t it, Beloved? Yes. I see that now. I remember. I will settle down and go to sleep now. I will be at peace. I trust You. I love You, Father. 

Will You please sing over me tonight? Words of love and reassurance? Would you run Your hands though my hair and whisper in my ear and stare down at me in awe, with the most beautiful tenderness? I would like that. I would like that very much.