Silence & Wine

God and I, we met at the kitchen table. Fruit and napkins between us, I would pull out my journal and Bible and I would pray into the silence.

And all I would hear in return was the blinds hitting against each other in the breeze.

It was hard.

I pushed through and I pulled out the Bible day after day and some days it was like pulling teeth to put words into prayers into uttered pieces of grace.


Until the day when I pulled out the chair onto the patio, in the cold fall breeze and I lit candles and played songs on repeat and finally, finally,

I could feel Him again

I tell her this over glasses of white wine, and she is surprised.

That happens to you? she asks.
I nod.

Yes. Yes, His silence sometimes rests heavily and I wrestle underneath the heaviness. All I want to do is push the blanket off and yet it’s wrapped tightly around me, and we wrestle.

I wrestle and mumble prayers in the midst of it.

I want to cry because I don’t know how to change it.

But maybe, that’s the point.

I cry these days because God’s pulling my hands away from the things I think I can somehow control. God’s silence. Her pain. His timing.

He asks me one night, “Do you trust me?”

His arms are around me and I want to tell him that I do. Of course I do. 

But God and I are still wrestling on that one. When I have the hardest time trusting the God who made me, how can I trust the one beside me? How can I trust the one I know best – myself?


And so I reach and I grasp and I hold onto things that are not mine to hold onto, thinking that somehow I can make them my own. Thinking that somehow it’s my job to write the story, to finish the chapters with a flourish, when my story is His story and He is the one that holds the pen.

Oh sweet girl, I can hear Him saying, won’t you just trust? Won’t you let go of the fear that holds you back – the fear that my Love will run out? The fear that I am against you, and not for you? The fear that my plans are not good?

And I ask Him to help me believe.

When my hands let go of the things that I cling to –

will your Hands be there to hold me instead?