The title of a book by famed tween author, Judy Blume. And one which I read repeatedly from the age of 11.
In a nutshell the books deal with a girl's coming of age and how she thinks these changes are divine retribution for some sin and how she keeps asking God what's going on with her. Comical to the fault but a deep read which has recently made me question my own faith.
I haven't prayed in quite a long time. I sit, eyes open in church, while everyone else mutters their thanks and requests and seem thankful for that which I recognise as karma and calling it prayer. As cynical as I sound, I've stopped asking for things. I've stopped being thankful to a deity who seems to have forgotten my number. I feel unloved and neglected for all my goodness and rudimentary attempts at obedience. I am a good person, honestly. I am by no means the poster-child of perfection, but like us all, I try.
But something sinister has been afoot in our home recently. For the last 2 days the princess has exhibited a tearful night time ritual of crying and laying awake in absolute terror. And as I entered the nursery each time, I would play the day over in my brain trying to pinpoint the moment when I failed as a mother and something scary happened to upset her so. But to date nothing. I am not of the habit of shouting at Imogen. I find it pointless really. She doesn't understand me - it just leads to tears from her and insurmountable guilt on my part.
Last night, after his majesty had been to her bedside numerous times I decided to go in and lend a hand. And as she catapulted from his arms to mine I realised how incredible the responsibility of her spiritual well-being is for me. And as I sat there on the rocker with her little eyelids fluttering at me I felt nothing but sadness. I had let her down. By cooling my own faith and not remaining vigilant, I had allowed someone to enter our home and rock her world.
Okay, don't call me cuckoo but I am of the belief that children see the world on a whole different plane to the adults. If you don't agree then please explain the imaginary friends or the ramblings of a 3 year old who tells you someone was in their room last night talking to them? When Imogen was a teeny baby she would continually stare past us at something or someone else in the room. She would smile and gurgle and derive great glee from interacting with whomever it was. His majesty still reminds me of how I would say she was "talking to the angels". Hey, don't judge but I still cling to the belief that they are out there.
So, if there's good there's got to be bad, right? Otherwise the universe would be off kilter and everything would be out of whack, cosmic balances and all.
The last few months have been far from easy for our little family. Crippling expenses, spending months apart. selling most of our possessions to afford to move, leaving our beloved pets in another's care and being the "new" people, it hasn't exactly been a joyride!
My heart has been crying out these last few months for God to contact me. Send me a divine sms via the cosmos and let me know that I am still on His speed dial. I have been a virtual flounder. Stuck in the spin-cycle which is my life but then again it would appear that selfishness has reared its ugly head again and I'v made it all about me!
Perhaps the going's on the last few days have been God trying to make contact. I will never know. Quite honestly, I would've settled for a phone call, a sneak peek at the next chapter!
When I spoke to his majesty about all of this last night, he asked that we pray together at her crib each night and I think I am finally in a place to give it a try.
Whatever it is, it has me scared too. I worry, always have and always will but maybe now I can do it without the trenches on my brow growing any deeper and the grey taking over my whole head!
Faith 101 - there is a manual, but it's in Hebrew, and I'm far from fluent.
As my father frequently quips - stop counting sheep and start speaking to the shepherd!
Later alligators. . .
