Using my hand to shade my eyes, I looked up at God and he patted the seat next to Him. I climbed up and strode across the seats, then dropped down next to him onto a seat cushion covered in halos. “Hi.”
“Hello back at you.” He offered the bag in his hand to me. “Peanut?”
I grabbed a handful. “Sorry I rode off without you. I acted without thinking. I had a lot on my mind.”
“Yes, I know.”
“I just wanted to sort through it all, get a grip on what to do. You know?”
He nodded, and raised an eyebrow at me.
“Of course, you know.” I shrugged my shoulders. “You know everything.”
“Really?” he asked. “Are you certain?”
“You’re God.”
“And I know everything?”
I nodded, perplexed by this questioning. “Yes, you know everything.”
“So, then I would know what you need to do, could possibly offer you guidance on appreciating your life?”
“Well, yeah.” I ran a hand through my hair and tried to back track through my thoughts tonight. Had I hurt God’s feelings? Did God have feelings? I think we had already covered that one. Love. Sorrow. Those were feelings indeed.
“I just wanted to sort it out myself.”
He took my hand then, and held it between his two strong ones. “And what I’m trying to get you to learn is this, Elizabeth. You don’t have to do it all by yourself.”
“Okay. You’re right. But sometimes I just want to turn it over in my own head first …”
“And make a plan…”
“Yeah. And then I can run it past you for approval.”
God shook his head at me. He shook his head at me and then looked me in the eyes. “Tell me what is wrong with what you just said.”
Day Fourteen
November 19
I woke up with sore muscles and a tired mind. I lay in the bed, hands clasped under my head while I gazed at nothing. It seemed I still had much to learn about God, life, healing, grieving and living. Just when I thought I was getting a handle on my situation and could wrap my brain around a plan, I hit a wall.
“Tell me what is wrong with what you just said.”
I had been stumped. I was still stumped. And Joshua had stopped hitting balls, and looked from God and to me and back again. They had a silent interchange, and I was back in bed.
Would I see Joshua again?
Did he know the answer?
I had lived most of my adult life by a plan, based on basic right and wrong, ethics, and Christian beliefs. Had I been doing it wrong? And if so, then what was the right way? I had to find some answers while I was awake, and I needed help from people smarter than me.
There was a tap on my door, and then Mabel pushed it open. “Girl, why are you still in bed? You missed breakfast and your morning session is about to start.”
Mabel qualified as someone smarter than me where God things were concerned. “Mabel, I need some help.”
She stepped into the room, letting the door close behind her. “Is something wrong?”
I sat up and scooted back against my pillows, crossing my legs Indian style. “Not really wrong, but not right either. How do I know how God wants me to live?”
“Ask Him.”
“Mabel! I need real practical steps.”
“Okay, okay.” She sat on the bed next to me. “I love to read, Elizabeth. I read the Bible, every day. I also read Christian books. Between the Bible and what the Christian writers say, I formed a philosophy for my life.”
“What philosophy?”
Mabel shook her head now and stood. “How God wants me to live and how He wants you to live are different because we are different. But there are some basics like prayer and Bible Study that can point you in the right direction. And listening! Listening to Him is really important.”
“But Mabel, I’ve prayed for years and years, and I’ve done Bible studies at my church for more than ten years.”
“And?”
“And it didn’t help. When Sean and Hannah died, none of that mattered. I couldn’t see God in any of it.”
“True faith is more than being a good Bible study student or repeating prayers from habit. You have to have that personal connection, that one-on-one face time with God, and the ability to humbly sit at Jesus’ feet. Like Mary.”
“Which Mary?”
“Mary and Martha, the sisters. You sound like you have done all the Martha things right -- which is needed -- but you haven’t done the Mary part and sat at Jesus’ feet and listened.”
“Listen? How can I listen to Jesus?”
“The Bible is a good place to start. The parables and stories he told are meant to be delved into, deeply, past the surface words, and applied to our lives.”
Frustrated, I shook my hands in the air. “How do you know all this stuff?”
“Let’s pray and see if God gives the okay for me to bring you some books this afternoon.” Mabel took both my hands in hers, closed her eyes, and bowed her head.
I closed my eyes and bowed my head, too.
“Dearest Lord, your child Elizabeth is searching for answers to some very important questions. Let me know if I should bring her some books or offer any other guidance. In Jesus name, we pray. Amen.”
“Amen.” I opened my eyes and looked up at her. “You expect God to answer you pretty quickly?”
“I expect Him to answer in His own time. Faith, girl. I walk by faith that He hears me when I ask and speaks to me when I listen.”
Dream 14
I sat in the mid-day autumn sunshine, in the park, on a multi-colored quilt my grandmother had made. It was the wedding ring quilt she had given me when I graduated high school. In reality it was old, worn, wearing thin and was safely put up in the top of my closet.
Tonight it was like new. Scattered around me were the books Mabel had brought to me. And right in front of me was an open Bible.
“What are you doing?”
“Hey there,” I smiled at Joshua. “I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again.”
“My job is to watch over, protect, and help you where I can. Last night it was learning to hit a baseball, tonight it looks like you’re studying. What can I do?”
I looked at the books I had been reading that afternoon. “Okay. Obviously, my goal is to get well enough to leave this place. But I don’t know if I will still be dreaming about God when I leave here. Mabel said to just ask God what he wants me to do. But how do normal Christian people get answers to their questions? How do they live their lives like God wants them to? I thought I was doing that already, but there’s more needed. Something is missing. I can see that now. God wasn’t happy with my answer last night.”
“Those are big questions.”
“And?” I asked expectantly. I mean he was an angel and could hang out with God anytime he wanted, right?
“What did God say to do?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out. I’ve got books here by Max Lucado, Beth Moore, Angela Thomas, and John Eldredge. These are really smart people who are close to God and are doing what God called them to do. How did they know what God called them to do?”
By now I was getting pretty impassioned in my plea and my frustration was starting to show. Here I was fourteen days and nights --almost half-way into my thirty day stay -- and I wanted a plan for when I left this place. I wanted direction. I wanted God’s direction.
“Lizzie …” Joshua started.
“I mean these people are so together…”
“Lizzie…” he tried again.
“I want to live well. I want to appreciate this second chance … that’s what I see this as…a second chance … and …”
“And?” Joshua asked.
I threw my hands down and stared at Joshua, my ey
es filling with tears, my heart full of fear. “And I don’t want to mess it up. Not now. Not after I’ve spent these nights with Him.”
He moved across the quilt, pushing books out of the way, and my teenage-looking guardian angel took me in his arms and held me close. For only a few moments. Then he took me by the shoulders and shook me gently. “Hear me, Lizzie. You are going to mess up. You are going to make mistakes. You are not perfect, and no matter what you do while you are on this earth, it won’t be perfect either. That isn’t what He wants.”
“What does He want?”
He laughed then and stood up holding out his hand. “Come on.”
I took his hand and let him pull me up. “Where are we going?”
But we were already there. It was a church full of people singing one of my favorite praise songs “Here I am to Worship” by Michael W. Smith. We stood at the back of the church and sang the whole song with them. It was beautiful, heartfelt, but also slightly off beat and off pitch.
When I closed my eyes and lifted my hands, I felt us shift. Now we were in a food line in a women’s shelter. There was no singing here, but I felt the love from each of the ladies who filled the plates for those in front of and behind us. The grey-haired lady handing out drinks said “God bless you” to each woman as they took their cup. And then there were more ladies who directed us to tables to sit, eat a good meal and be warm. I listened to conversations about the women’s day looking for work, filling out forms to get assistance, and trying to stay warm. I heard the fear and despair in their voices, and I felt the gift of caring.
Then we were in a busy office. Telephones ringing, copiers copying, people talking, questions and answers flying through the air. There was a customer problem. What could be done? There was a personal problem interrupting an employee’s day. What could be done? There was a computer down. What could be done? There was a dead cell phone. What could be done? I’d experienced each of those situations. I watched as each was addressed and handled with good humor and patience.
Next we were in a drive-thru window at a busy fast food restaurant. I saw in an instant that the cashier was worried about something. She paused and prayed, and went on taking orders with a smile and a cheerful attitude. Then her manager walked by and squeezed her arm. No words, just a touch of reassurance.
The silence was deafening. I peered around a walled-in-courtyard curiously, watching as robed monks tended their gardens. They hoed and turned the earth. They planted, staked up and watered in silence. Walking through the building I observed them as they scrubbed floors, washed pots, and prayed on their knees in the chapel. The sense of peace was amazing.
The laughter made me jump and I watched, smiling, as a dad tickled his two children, while the mom turned down their beds. Prayers were said, hugs and kisses exchanged, then the lights went out. “Mommy?” a young voice called out from the dark. “Yes?” a voice responded. “I love you.” “I love you, too sweetheart.”
We sat back down on the quilt in the park.
“Wow. That was awesome. So God wants me to sing praise songs, volunteer at a homeless shelter, and work for a cell phone company, have two more kids, join a monastery …”
“Or?” Joshua’s smile was hopeful.
“Or maybe he wants me to love Him and love others.”
“Ding. Ding. Ding. Give Lizzie a prize.”
“But I KNEW THAT!”
“I thought so, but some lessons need to be refreshed.”
I grabbed a notebook and started drawing lines and writing in days of the week. I marked off work days. “So if I still work forty hours a week, then my evenings are free. I need to call and see which shelter needs …”
“Hold your horses. What are you doing?”
“Making a schedule. How can I help if I am not organized?”
“What did God say?”
“Love God. Love your neighbor. I wonder if it’s too late to join the Christmas choir.” I wrote that on my calendar on Thursday nights.
My pen disappeared first, then the notebook, then the books, and then Joshua waved good bye. It was just me and my Bible.
Then. There was God.
Sitting comfortably cross-legged in front of me.
Bemused by the evening’s events and my mind filled with questions and images and Joshua, I raised my hands in the air. “What do you want me to do?”
The applause from heaven was deafening.
God smiled.
Talk about positive reinforcement. He knew I still didn’t get it. Not entirely. But I had finally asked the right question to the absolutely right person.
Day Fifteen
November 20
“What do you want me to do?”
Can a mere human ask the Creator of the Universe such a question? Am I not supposed to know what to do? Didn’t Father Andrew preach “Love God, Love Neighbor” at least three times a year? Take care of widows, orphans, the homeless, missionaries? All of these are good things that need doing, but my question was personal now. What does God want Elizabeth Ann Grace Sullivan to do today, now, and in the future?
I wrote all morning—skipping the group session—a huge no-no. I wrote down all the things that I felt that I could do, then all the things I’d like to try doing, and all the things I did not want to do nor felt qualified to even try to do. Mabel said she felt called to love people, but how did she end up here, in an addiction treatment center?
For the first time in a very long time, I tried to look up passages in the Bible about how to follow Jesus. But my memory was faulty. I needed access to a concordance or a computer.
Mabel bustled into the room with a bright smile and my lunch on a tray. “How are you feeling? Headache gone?”
A wave of guilt rushed over me and flushed my cheeks with embarrassment. “Mabel, I am so sorry. I lied about having a headache. I was writing and I simply did not want to break my concentration. Can you forgive me? Please?”
She set my tray down carefully on the bed. Her hands went to her ample hips and her smile turned into a frown. Dark brown eyes assessed me and I met her gaze. I did not want her to doubt my sincerity. “Recognizing and admitting your bad decisions is a good sign of a healthy conscience. Yes, I forgive you. Don’t do it again.”
I sighed. “Thank you, Mabel. Now can I make a request?”
“You have to go this afternoon.”
“Yes, yes, you are absolutely right. How do I get computer time?”
“Doc Aimee has to sign off on it and schedule you. Ask her this afternoon.”
I hungrily ate my lunch of a chicken salad sandwich, an apple and a chocolate chip cookie. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been excited about something. I had a mission. I wanted to study, do research, and ask questions. I wanted to be prepared to meet God tonight.
As I brushed my hair, standing before the bathroom mirror, I paused. I knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Me asking the question and Him giving me a step by step plan for the rest of my life. He’d probably say get well first, and I really understood that now. But then what? After my thirty days here, what was next?
And somehow that is what we talked about in group.
“What happens when we leave?” I asked, peering around at the circle to see if my question provoked any interest.
“What do you mean, Elizabeth?”
“What’s next for us? Do we go back to our old life and try not to go crazy again?”
Silence.
Doc Aimee scanned the group, but her gaze returned to me. “What is worrying you most?”
“Dorothy didn’t want to go back so much that she killed herself. My old life wasn’t working for me either. How do I change it? What can I change? I failed. That’s why I am here. How do I keep from failing again?”
“Excellent question. What can you change?” Aimee eyed the whole group again. “This question
is for all of you. What can you change so that you continue to get well and do not relapse into poor choices and behaviors again?”
I studied the group, who were each looking a bit overwhelmed and scared to answer. My hands became my focal point. Twisting them together in my lap.
“Elizabeth, give us one suggestion.”
I said the first thing that popped in my head. “Continue counseling.”
“Richard?”
Thoughtful as always, he weighed his words carefully. “Reconnect with trusted family and friends.”
“Good. Trustworthy people who have our best interest at heart are valuable allies. If anyone suggests you go back to bad behaviors—you must walk away- and do so quickly. Strength comes with time, but it is always better to not even tempt yourself. Neither should you get into a verbal sparring match with anyone who is trying to sabotage your healing.”
“Stephen? What about you?”
Stephen pushed his glasses up his nose. “I guess for me—church.”
“Yes. Although our facility is not a faith-based program, most of us working here recognize the healing that comes from a spiritual relationship with God. If you feel like Stephen, then find a church community and get involved.”
“Annie? What do you think?”
Annie looked at each of us with her solemn cinnamon eyes. “Help other people survive this kind of crazy.”
A bell dinged in my head. A light came on. I spoke up. “Yes, Annie, you are so right. Yet how? That’s my frustration. How can what I’ve been through help someone else?”
“We survived,” Richard said, his voice barely above a whisper. He rubbed his eyes, then face and head, and then let his hands fall to his lap. “We each are surviving. We will not be victims of grief, depression, anxiety, phobias, or fear. Like an alcoholic who goes one more day without a drink, each day we live is a victory over our tragedies. We are a testament to survival.”
And he was right. I hadn’t thought of it that way before. But Richard was right. Now, yes, I was only fifteen days into my stay, but I was already looking forward—not backward. Each of them had been here longer and I realized they would leave before me. “Richard, when do you leave?”
30 Nights with God Page 7