Before they call, I will answer

I've been thinking recently about the state of my relationship with God. While everything else is slowing getting back on track and life is returning to normal (or as normal as it ever gets with us), I can't say the same for my relationship with God.

Immediately after Zoe's death, and in the weeks that followed, I had such a sense of God's nearness, presence and love. Even in the midst of all the pain, I felt I could still say that God was loving and knew best, and I could, in some measure at least, praise Him.

That has now gone. In it's place is this vacuum. Now, I have no inclination to praise Him, no inclination to do anything vaguely spiritual. In church this morning, I was really hoping that I could connect with Him on some level, but that was not to be. Nellie was unable to be on her own in creche, and as I figured Graeme needed the break more than I did (we are both SO exhausted at the moment... probably just from hay fever more than anything else), I went in to play with her.

When we got home, I decided I needed to take time to read through the collection of emails we've had since Thursday that I hadn't had time to read. In amongst them, was one of those emails that asks you to forward it on to all your friends. Unlike many though, it wasn't promising you anything if you did/ didn't. I have no idea how true the story it contained is, but I've heard so many similar stories whose content I can verify that I trust this to be true.

It made me cry, because it seemed to me that God was letting me know that He knows where I'm at, and that even before I feel able to call out for help, He has answered; that even before I know I'm in trouble, He has already set in motion a plan to rescue me; that even though I currently feel nothing, He has not abandoned me. Which is exactly what I needed to hear this morning. Which is why I cried.

A quick aside about emotions: I know that emotion is a peculiarly charismatic thing, both a strength and a weakness. The strength is that I think it reconnects our heart with our minds. All too often I think religion seeks to disconnect them, which Jesus never did. The weakness is that, all too often, charismatics allow the pendulum to swing too far and disregard the mind completely, which Jesus never did either.

I am learning to keep the two in balance, but as I am an emotional person anyway, feeling things is very important to me. For me, to go through the motions of anything (not just religious stuff) without the feeling to back it up feels fraudulent to me somehow, like I'm lying.

I know there are times when I have to, or need to, but I much prefer it if the emotion is there underpinning what I'm doing, especially when it comes to my faith. Not to feel like praising God, or talking to Him, or reading the Bible, or just spending time with Him... that's a pretty big deal for me, and I'd rather not pretend otherwise. I'd rather not sing songs whose words I can't echo in my heart. I'd rather not read the Bible or pray out of a sense of duty. And if that's the only thing I feel - a sense of duty - then I'm not going to do those things. I'd rather not lie by omission, or perjure myself before the Judge of the world.

If I'm in trouble for not being spiritual enough, or for not giving God the honour & glory He is due irrespective of how I feel, or for taking grace for granted, then that's enough of a crime. I don't want to add to it by going through the motions and being hypocritical.

So here's the story. It's written by a doctor in Africa.

One night I had worked hard to help a mother in the labor ward; but in spite of all we could do, she died leaving us with a tiny premature baby and a crying two-year-old daughter. We would have difficulty keeping the baby alive, as we had no incubator (we had no electricity to run an incubator).

We also had no special feeding facilities. Although we lived on the equator, nights were often chilly with treacherous drafts. One student midwife went for the box we had for such babies and the cotton wool that the baby would be wrapped in. Another went to stoke up the fire and fill a hot water bottle. She came back shortly in distress to tell me that in filling the bottle, it had burst (rubber perishes easily in tropical climates). "And it is our last hot water bottle!" she exclaimed. As in the West, it is no good crying over spilled milk so in Central Africa it might be considered no good crying over burst water bottles They do not grow on trees, and there are no drugstores down forest pathways.

"All right," I said, "put the baby as near the fire as you safely can, and sleep between the baby and the door to keep it free from drafts. Your job is to keep the baby warm."

The following noon, as I did most days, I went to have prayers with any of the orphanage children who chose to gather with me. I gave the youngsters various suggestions of things to pray about and told them about the tiny baby. I explained our problem about keeping the baby warm enough, mentioning the hot water bottle, and that the baby could so easily die if it got chills. I also told them of the two-year-old sister, crying because her mother had died.

During prayer time, one ten-year old girl, Ruth, prayed with the usual blunt conciseness of our African children. "Please, God" she prayed, "send us a water bottle. It'll be no good tomorrow, God, as the baby will be dead, so please send it this afternoon." While I gasped inwardly at the audacity of the prayer, she added, "And while You are about it, would You please send a dolly for the little girl so she'll know You really love her?"

As often with children's prayers, I was put on the spot. Could I honestly say, "Amen". I just did not believe that God could do this. Oh, yes, I know that He can do everything, the Bible says so. But there are limits, aren't there? The only way God could answer this particular prayer would be by sending me a parcel from homeland. I had been in Africa for almost four years at that time, and I had never, ever received a parcel from home. Anyway, if anyone did send me a parcel, who would put in a hot water bottle? I lived on the equator! Halfway through the afternoon, while I was teaching in the nurses' training school, a message was sent that there was a car at my front door.

By the time I reached home, the car had gone, but there, on the veranda, was a large twenty-two pound parcel. I felt tears pricking my eyes. I could not open the parcel alone, so I sent for the orphanage children. Together we pulled off the string, carefully undoing each knot. We folded the paper, taking care not to tear it unduly. Excitement was mounting.

Some thirty or forty pairs of eyes were focused on the large cardboard box. From the top, I lifted out brightly colored, knitted jerseys. Eyes sparkled as I gave them out. Then there were the knitted bandages for the leprosy patients, and the children looked a little bored. Then came a box of mixed raisins and sultanas - that would make a batch of buns for the weekend. Then, as I put my hand in again, I felt the.....could it really be? I grasped it and pulled it out - yes, a brand-new, rubber hot water bottle. I cried. I had not asked God to send it; I had not truly believed that He could. Ruth was in the front row of the children. She rushed forward, crying out, "If God has sent the bottle, He must have sent the dolly too!"

Rummaging down to the bottom of the box, she pulled out the small, beautifully dressed dolly. Her eyes shone! She had never doubted! Looking up at me, she asked: "Can I go over with you and give this dolly to that little girl, so she'll know that Jesus really loves her?"

That parcel had been on the way for five whole months. Packed up by my former Sunday school class, whose leader had heard and obeyed God's prompting to send a hot water bottle, even to the equator. And one of the girls had put in a dolly for an African child - five months before, in answer to the believing prayer of a ten-year-old to bring it "that afternoon."

"Before they call, I will answer" (Isaiah 65:24)