Have you ever looked up your name’s meaning? My name means, a messenger of God. I never believe it because I don’t hear God the same way my friends heard Him (or Her). In church people say things like, “God told me to do this” or my favorite, “God told me to tell you…”. I’ve clearly pissed God off with my laziness or love of pop culture or maybe he’s disappointed because I secretly want to be a burlesque dancer. But God doesn’t talk to me the way he seems to talk to others. I sit quietly with my prayers and look up to the sky and wait. And nothing happens. And nothing happens so often I’ve given up expecting a response but it hasn’t stopped me from praying.
In the praying moments, I’m like an exhausted, famine farmer, who’s just planted the last damn seeds he owns in a waterless field, glaring at the ground and nothing is happening. But when I look back at my life I see prayers answered the same way you’d watch the farmer’s field sprout in a time-lapse video. Over time the things I’d misunderstood and underestimated, like heartbreak and failed dreams, have transformed to lush flower beds and fruit trees. I have no doubt I’ll always have weeds in my garden but also no doubt God was with me. So I keep praying.