At a loss… trusting God will give me the words

The education, pastoral ministry, and nonprofit sectors love the personality tests. I won’t list all the various social and psychological iterations here, but no matter what kind of personality test you give me, I always come out as some kind of analytical introvert. I’m the kind that struggles to articulate thoughts and feelings on the fly. I do not often talk things through or brainstorm out loud. I mull and analyze and then an hour, week, or a month later finally have a plan. Sometimes the words just don’t come. The concepts, facts, and ideas swirl around until something clicks and makes sense. 

When I signed up months ago to write on the topic of “trusting that God will give me the words,” I did not expect to find myself at a loss for these very words I am hoping to hear from God.  My mind fills with doubt… who am I to speak of God? I am not a Jesuit, not a priest, not a PhD. I am not Becky Eldredge or Margaret Silf. What could I possibly say that has not been said on the topic of Ignatian Spirituality?  But God has given me the words to speak… 

During my time at Loyola Marymount University, a Jesuit and Marymount college in Los Angeles, there was a Religious of the Sacred Heart of Mary sister who left a lasting spiritual legacy. At the time of her death in 2009, Sr. Peg Dolan had given decades to the spiritual formation of students, faculty, staff and alumni of LMU. One of her famous pieces of advice was:

“You are a word of God spoken only once, unless you speak that word it will never be spoken.” 

15 years after her passing, her words still resonate with me… and the many others who knew her. I recently came across a framed print of this very quote that had been artistically designed by another alumna of LMU.The sentiment is so simple and yet radical. If I genuinely believe I am a word of God, then I have to trust that God will give me the means and the courage to speak that truth. 

I find myself surrounded by charismatic Jesuits who can command a room, filling that space for hours and days of preached and guided retreats. They share clear, detailed images that come to them through imaginative prayer and help others get in touch with their own imagination. During my 19th Annotation retreat, I expected to fill pages and pages of journals with inspiring things that came to me as I moved through the various meditations. Instead, I would have perhaps one coherent sentence to write down at the end of the week. When the people around me were preaching eloquent sermons, I was writing haikus. God was continuing to show up to me in prayer, but in ways that were new and challenging.  The graces were real and palpable but I found myself unable to contain those graces on a piece of paper.

Some of the words have come over time, as I have accompanied others in the Spiritual Exercises, led retreats, and facilitated Ignatian faith sharing groups. My own experiences in prayer shaped the way I designed these prayer opportunities with and for others. I realized that for many other people, the grace didn’t flow out of prayer, all coherent and eloquent, either. The words God gave me were words of encouragement and accompaniment, rather than words of certainty and authority. 

The unique ways that God communicates with each of us shape the personal witness that we give to God’s goodness. God gives us the truth and reality of our own lives as means to connect with the divine. If I find that prayer is coming up empty, oftentimes I have been praying with someone else’s words, with a feeling of what prayer “should” be. One of my favorite poems captures the moment where God becomes personally real. Rabia Basri is an 8th century Muslim mystic who was believed to be a freed slave.  

Would you come if someone called you
by the wrong name?

I wept, because for years He did not enter my arms;
then one night I was told a
secret:

Perhaps the name you call God is
not really His, maybe
it is just an
alias.

I thought about it, and came up with a pet name
for my Beloved I never mention to others.

All I can say is-
it works.
Rabia (c.717-801)

Instead of trying to translate the words of God to others and figure out what they mean in my own life, prayer becomes about listening for the unique way that God calls out to me, as his Beloved. This poem is written from the perspective of the human seeking the name of God, but for me it evoked the sense that God had been calling out to me my whole life but I was too lost to recognize that voice as belonging to God. In Ignatian Spirituality, we use our own senses in imaginative prayer to know God on a personal level.  Hopefully, in doing so, I can recognize that undeniably God has been there all along, encouraging me to see myself as a beloved disciple. And that is a story only I can tell. 

Going Deeper 

Listen to my own sharing on discovering myself as the beloved, or listen to many other inspiring people on ITD blogger Gretchen Crowder’s Loved As You Are Podcast 

Explore freedom in the creative spiritual process Act Against the Creative Censor, Eric Clayton 

Get in touch with Praying the Truth, Vinita Hampton Wright 

Read more in this series on finding your voice in Christ on the Into the Deep Blog.