An Imagined Conversation with God

I've been on my knees for about half an hour, slowly waking up and trying to remain focused on the concept of prayer. Per usual, my thoughts drift all over the place, from things I wish I had done or said to daydreams of events and conversations with others. Sometimes I freely express frustration in ways I would not actually speak; sometimes I'm playfully interacting with my loved ones. In most cases, these imaginings allow me to practice being my true self as I continue to smooth out my rough edges. When I realize I'm no longer "praying"–based on the conventional definition of the term–I practice pulling my thoughts back into the present moment by focusing on who God is, on who I am, on requests from friends and family, and on areas where I need help. This process gets repeated over and over again. As my time winds down, I begin to lament that I haven't been "prayerful enough" during these past thirty minutes. Tears form in my eyes as I feel the familiar sting of "not enough."

That's when I also feel the familiar arm around my shoulders. I can almost hear God saying to me, "But I enjoy the time we spend together. I like hearing about your life. These daydreams are your way of processing–of trying to be more like me. Although I love your adoration, these Ramona's-version prayers also fill me with joy. Every moment cannot be filled singing my praises. Paul was using hyperbole when he said to 'pray without ceasing' (I Thessalonians 5:17). By including Me in your life throughout your day, you are fulfilling this charge."

I'm struggling to take this in as the magnet of shame pulls me toward my usual thoughts of inadequacy. Can I believe such things? Could God ever look at me and say He is pleased? He–of all people–knows the truth about my inner being.

God interrupts me: "Think of it this way: When your daughter calls you from Colorado and recounts what has been happening in her life over the past day or week, do you judge what she's telling you or chooses to focus on? Of course not. You want to hear about the things that are important to her. You love the fact that she wants to share her life with you. In a way, it reminds you of when she was little and she would run into your arms. Remember how you feel about your own children because it can help you understand how I feel about your morning routine of getting on your knees and trying to connect with Me."

As I wrestle to accept this different perspective, two conjunctions stand out to me: BUT and AND. So many times in the Bible, we have sentences that begin with "But God..." to contrast His ways from our ways. When all hope seems lost, we have a "But God..." I think of Noah in Genesis 8:1, Joseph in Genesis 50:20, the distraught Israelite in Psalm 73:26, the reminder that sin has been overcome in Romans 5:8, God's decision to act on our behalf in I Corinthians 3:6, and the glorious resurrection of Jesus in Acts 3:15, just to name a few. Knowing my propensity of being drawn toward shame, God stepped into my consciousness and gave me a "But God" moment by providing a different perspective. And He used the concept of AND to remind me how damaging these "not enough" thoughts can be.

My introduction to the importance of this small word came from one of my favorite authors, Dr. Kelly Flanagan, who reminds me of the power of AND in his book Loveable. The idea of "not enough" is only half of the truth, which is spoken by shame (p. 90). The rest of the truth comes from another voice: the voice of Grace, which tells me I am "beautiful and beloved" (p. 91). Such a reminder allows me to be fully human (and fallen and imperfect) AND fully loveable. How much more powerful is “Yes, and…” instead of “Yes, but…”! Flanagan reminds me that “Grace is the love that sees the ugly along with the beautiful, [sic] and joyfully holds both together in a tender embrace” (pp. 91-92). Being reminded of the joy I take in my own children (regardless of their shortcomings) allowed me to experience AND. God interrupted me with the embrace of a BUT that led to a bear hug of AND. He is not the God of half-truths: "we're broken and we're beautiful" (Flanagan, p. 103). Embracing this whole truth, I stand up from my prayer time a whole BUT messy AND beautiful daughter of the King.