I often find myself saying that “one day” it will make sense; “one day” I will understand God’s plan.
With big questions and particularly difficult circumstances, I acknowledge that I may never know God’s reasons in this lifetime. Other times, I reach moments of understanding, accompanied by self-reflection and an ensuing sense of peace.
Recently, a light bulb went on for me regarding a childhood situation. When I was about nine years old, I was seated next to a classmate I had met in kindergarten but had never really talked to. We hit it off and ended up playing together at recess almost every day. We chatted on the phone, she often came to my house, and she was a regular at my birthday parties. When we reached high school, we ate together in the cafeteria and chatted in the hallway.
In my mind, we were “good” friends for many years; yet, I don’t think the feeling was mutual. After all, I was never once invited to her home. She had birthday parties, too, but I never made the final cut of her guest list.
I admit that as a youngster, I shed tears over being excluded by her, but I never abandoned her. As I got older, I realized that people’s roles in friendships are not always equal. It wasn’t that this girl didn’t like me (I still believe that she did); it’s just that, while I was more than an acquaintance, I was basically a friend of convenience, rather than a friend of the heart.
For years, I felt that the lessons from this situation were to make me more inclusive and to inspire me to teach my children and students the same. I now realize that, in addition to fostering a greater awareness of my relationships with others, God was revealing something more.
I am not sure what caused this story from my past to surface, but as I ruminated on my feelings, I saw myself in my childhood friend. Just as she talked to me and visited me regularly, I talk to God every day. Pre-COVID 19, I even visited his house – the church – at least once each week. I always call on him when I am lonely or in need. I ask for advice and look to his word for strength. But, when all is said and done, have I merely made God a “friend of convenience” rather than really inviting him into the home of my heart?
Do I proclaim my faith in broader circles? Do I turn to him first, before attempting to solve problems on my own? Do I lean on him in private, only to forget to invite him to the party?
Since the Collins Concise Dictionary defines a parable as “a short story that uses familiar events to illustrate a religious or ethical situation,” I am inclined to feel that God presented this friendship situation as a sort of “parable” just for me.
When Jesus’ disciples asked him why he spoke in parables, Jesus explaining the prophecy of Isaiah stated, “‘Though seeing, they do not see; though hearing, they do not understand’” (Mt 13:13). For many years, I saw this situation without seeing its true moral. I heard the story as a sort of victim without understanding that, in my most important relationship, I was sometimes guilty of treating God in the same dismissive way.
During this pandemic, I am reminded even more that God is always there for me: the one Friend I can always touch and embrace when all others must be socially distanced. He doesn’t play favourites, and he never gives up on me. More than any relationship of this world, I must place him first.
My godmother, Aunt Monica, used to tell the people she trained at work, “If you leave here each day without learning something new, you haven’t been paying attention.” I think that is a good motto for life. I aim to pay attention each day – to listen to the lessons carefully woven into my experiences – and learn something new.
God continues to speak to me. I need to regularly invite him in, so that one day I may fully “understand with [my] heart” (Mt 13:15).
