When in the darkness, the Lord is our light.

What if we cannot see the light?

We believe that He holds our hand and that we walk by faith.

But what if we can’t feel His hand leading us? 

How do we know that we are being led, when we are unsure of where we are going?

How does one live life amidst uncertainty? 

How can one learn to discern God’s will in one’s life? 

That is what I am wondering. 

***

This season of Lent, for me, is about questions. I have lots of questions for God; I’m struggling with connecting the dots, so to speak, between His plans for me, and their execution in my life. When in communication with God, I ask Him for help or to feel His presence: then I continue about my life as I hope for answers. I don’t know about you, but I often don’t really see the ways God is leading me. So that begs the question, sometimes – how do I know what God is doing in my life? How can I connect the desire to be of service to Him, with the chaotic tumble of my daily tribulations and worries?

In this Lenten season, what is God calling you to? Where is He in the day-to-day parts of your life? Where can you look to find Him? And what do you do when you cannot recognize His work in your life? 

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I have heard it said, or read it somewhere, that God’s light is so powerful that it is ultimately undetectable to us. As one approaches closer to the light and love that is God, one is more and more consumed by mystery, which looks like darkness to us. I suppose this life is like climbing a mountain: when I envision mountain-climbing, I normally think of going straight up steep slopes. But obviously that is not the whole of the story: there are dips and valleys, times when you’re walking around in circles, bits of elevation you don’t expect or anticipate, and the frequent fear of getting lost. 

So it is with me. I wish I had answers, this Lent. As far back as I can remember, I have wanted to know God’s will for me, so I could do it. It seemed like a simple equation: in order to do right, you have to know what is expected. I guess I sort of assumed that the right thing to do would be self-evident: I thought God would be clearer in telling me what He wants. The reality I am confronting, however, is that this is not necessarily the case.

I go back in my mind, often, to the case of St. Monica and St. Augustine. St. Monica struggled and worried about her son constantly and kept seeking out ways for him to turn his life around. At one point, she arranged a marriage for him, but it did not work out. Looking at it now, we are all of course glad it did not work out: we can see that God had something much greater in mind for St. Augustine. But St. Monica did not know that at the time, did she? She must have been disappointed when the marriage did not work out. For that matter, what about when St. Augustine’s son died? How must that have affected him? We don’t think of St. Augustine as a physical father – we focus instead on his spiritual leadership as a Doctor and Father of the church. Did his son have to die, in order for this to happen? From the lens of history, I would say – probably. But St. Augustine did not know that at the time, did he?

I think what I am trying to say is this. We have all been taught that we have to die in order to live. What does that mean in our day-to-day lives?

I am asking myself this: what is it that I have to give up? Do I have to die to the idea of biological motherhood? Do I also have to die to the idea of – I hesitate to say it, but I’ll say it nonetheless – sexual intimacy with my husband? For that is a big part of my personal difficulty: my husband and I struggle with infertility because we have struggles with intimacy. Which brings me back to my questions. I want to ask God if this is what He really intended when He asked us to get married: is it meant to be difficult, always? Was this His idea of holy matrimony, for us? 

I wish I had more answers.

***

We are told that God’s strength is made perfect in our weaknesses. I note that it is not said that we will be aware of said strength being perfected: it is quite possible that all we will ever perceive is our weakness being made manifest. The question then becomes, how do we keep on moving, when it’s difficult to tell what’s going on? How does one know one is moving, if one is in a vacuum?

I don’t know where I’m going, and I don’t know when I’ll get there. I believe, in faith, that where I am headed is better than where I am. I believe that there is daily bread provided by God – strength for the journey. I believe all these things.

I believe I am very tired, though. I just want to rest from these troubles for a while. If that is how you feel, then welcome to this asynchronous retreat space! Let us take some time from carrying our crosses – set them down, ask for help from others, seek to heal and find strength, and acknowledge that these burdens are heavy. Even Jesus did not carry His cross alone, and He was never completely alone as He walked the way of sorrows. 

So it is, so it must be, with me. I need to hold on to the truth that I am not alone. If you need to hear it, please hear it from me: you are not alone. You have friends you have never met and may never see, praying for you – both here and in Heaven. You have a Friend who understands all about bearing the costs of others’ mistakes, and coping with things that were not His fault. You are in the company of One who understands, and who loves you.

May this Lenten season shorten our sufferings. May the Easter season, far away as it seems now, bring the hope of healing and Heaven ever closer. May we be comforted in knowing we are not alone! May God be with us.

Teresa is a nurse. Her favorite color is purple and she likes trying new things. She enjoys both outdoor (skiing, swimming) and indoor (reading, piano) activities. She married her husband in 2017. Together they enjoy traveling and tandem bicycling. She really likes the Springs in the Desert blog posts and is honored to be a Contributor.