A few weeks ago, I was at a worship event with friends, the 15 singers belting out praises to the Lord. It was my first Worshipfest, as the event was called. Ever since moving to a new city two months ago, I had been trying to embrace the newness of everything, as uncomfortable as that made me.
It was still wild to me that I was living in a new city and not at home in the small, mountain town where I grew up. My heart ached for Flagstaff on a daily basis, for the familiarity that I felt there, the comfort of knowing the city so well. In Phoenix, I still had to use GPS to get to most places, almost everything felt foreign. As I traveled the expansive miles of freeways, I wondered, how would I ever feel known in such a big city?
I thought I could rely on my relationship with the Lord to help me feel known in my big transition. But ever since the move, He’d been pretty silent. I didn’t know how much longer I could take the agonizing silence whenever I went to prayer. I couldn’t shake my need for consolation in the midst of the dry spell, just to know that I wasn’t alone in the biggest transition I’ve made in my life.
The worship crew stepped down from the altar, and a Franciscan Friar took the mic. I was shocked to see that he was the speaker for the night! My new job was working for a Franciscan order, and I’d come to know this particular friar through conversations about the Lord. My heart felt a little jolt of happiness at the friar’s presence. His talk felt like another one of our conversations that left me feeling at peace. I found myself smiling widely as he mentioned St. Francis de Sales, my favorite saint, and tears pinpricked the corners of my eyes.
Was the Lord using this friar and St. Francis de Sales to help me feel seen?
He concluded his talk by inviting everyone to close their eyes and imagine hugging God the Father. I tried to imagine hugging Him, but my imagination seemed to be malfunctioning. Instead, a memory I made with my dad when I was a freshman in college was popping into my head.
I lived in the dorms freshman year and even though I attended college in my hometown, I found myself, like most college students, missing my parents.
One night I decided to go to a worship event that the Newman Center was hosting. I invited my dad last minute, knowing he probably wouldn’t come; he didn’t particularly enjoy being out at night.
I was settling into prayer when I noticed someone genuflecting near my pew. I turned and was shocked to see my dad! He gave me a half smile and slid in next to me. I lit up like it was Christmas.
Before I knew it, tears flowed down my cheeks. I didn’t feel at home yet on campus, desiring to be knowing at such a big school and feeling unseen. Yet with my dad sitting next to me, I suddenly felt seen and at home.
My dad turned to face me and looked a little surprised to see tears streaming down my cheeks. “Why are you crying?” he whispered.
“Because I miss you,” I said.
“I’m right here."
It was the simplest statement conveyed with so much love and affection. It only made me cry more.
So there I sat seven years later, at a different worship night, desiring to feel seen by the Lord, wondering where He’d been the past two months.
At some point I stopped fighting my imagination and realized that the Heavenly Father was encountering me in this memory. That’s when I felt the Heavenly Father speaking the same words my dad spoke to me all those years ago: I’m right here.
Those were the only words I needed for the tears to come. Those words became an invitation to share everything on my heart with Him. I cried and told Him how much I missed Flagstaff and the familiarity of everything and I told Him how much I missed Him the past two months. In that moment, a part of me understood why He’d been silent since the move. The silence was His way of inviting me to share everything on my heart. He had been right next to me through the transition, even if I didn’t feel Him.
Wherever you find yourself today in your walk with the Lord, whether you feel Him or not, I hope that you can find some comfort in knowing that He’s right here with you. The reality of His presence surpasses feeling or the lack of feeling His presence. The Heavenly Father is sitting next to you, listening and attentive, reminding you that He’s right here.
Peace and joy,
Kirsten
