Wake me up Lord

I launched my blog on September 27th. It wasn't premeditated, but I awoke with a strong urge to write and organize what I had begun the previous week. I felt compelled to ask some of my close family members if I could send them scripture daily, inspired by Charlie Kirk, who did this for his friends and family. While I realized sending scripture daily wouldn't be sustainable, I wanted a platform to share with others and deepen my relationship with God.

After some research, I set up a blog within a few hours and subscribed for a year. I was incredibly driven. I loved the name I chose, "Here I am Lord," a hymn that holds great significance for me. I first heard it at my paternal grandmother’s funeral and chose it again for my father’s funeral. Later, it became a source of comfort during difficult times, especially when I was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2009. I'll write more about that in an article later this month.

However, as the day progressed, my enthusiasm waned. Doubts crept in: Why are you doing this? This is silly. You'll quit in a few days. You never finish what you start. This is just another phase. You don’t even have a plan.

These thoughts surprised me. I had been so positive and motivated. What changed? I began to wonder if these doubts were valid. By 2pm, after starting at 9am, my mindset had shifted from "you go girl" to "this is a dumb idea, quit now." I had to close my computer. I felt terrible and just wanted to sleep. I knew these thoughts weren't from God but from fear, yet they overwhelmed me.

I had zero motivation. My husband, who left for work in the morning, returned to find me in the same spot. He wanted to go out, but I had no desire to do anything, not even shower. He was disappointed, and I felt guilty. I finally agreed to shower and see how I felt. While showering, I prayed for inspiration and guidance on my blogging journey. I had created a category for inspirational stories and spiritual essays but wondered where to start.

After the shower, I felt better, so we went out. We had a drink and appetizers at a favorite bar and grill. Nowadays, it’s just two appetizers, a club soda for me, and a beer for my husband, so it was short but enjoyable. Later, we decided to get food since there was nothing at home. I went to the local Dollar General for frozen pizza, while my husband waited for me in the car.

I picked up my items and debated buying a reusable bag, having forgotten mine. Disliking the plastic bag ban in NJ, I decided to balance my items instead. Checking out was chaotic as the lady behind me rushed me. I thought she was rude but dismissed it, not needing more reasons to be upset. Despite the shower and outing, I couldn’t shake the heavy sadness. I left the store balancing pizza boxes, ice cream pints, and strawberries, regretting not buying a bag. Focused on finding our car, I forgot we took the Grey Ford Edge instead of the Red Ford Bronco. As I looked around, I heard a voice say, “She needs help.” I turned to see a woman looking lost. I asked if she needed help, and she replied softly, "I can’t walk." She took my left hand while I balanced my purchases in the other. I asked where she needed to go, and she pointed to her friends ahead. One woman, dressed in hot pink, was her friend. I prayed for balance and noticed her hand felt warm and comforting. I wondered if I was holding God’s hand. Just then, my husband arrived and took the groceries, answering my prayer. I focused on walking the lady to her friends’ car. She pointed to a dark grey van, and I helped her inside. The driver thanked me, appearing responsible for the group and frazzled. The woman I helped seemed mentally impaired, not very old, with short gray hair. I learned her name, Lynda, and said goodbye and God bless you.

The experience left me shaken. Did I hear God when I heard, "she needs help"? Would I have noticed her otherwise? I was focused on myself, looking for the red Bronco, but I noticed her. It had to be God, not me.

I went home feeling different. My husband and I discussed what he saw. He was waiting in the car, wondering why I was taking long. When he saw me with the woman, he knew I needed help. The moment I prayed for help balancing my items, he appeared. God answered my prayer, showed me the least of these, and gave me a lesson and my first story. I felt inspired again. God is good.

The next day, I felt better but still haunted by the Dollar General experience. I sought confirmation from Jesus that I was on the right path and decided to attend mass for peace and reflection.

I didn’t expect answers at mass, just peace and prayer. The previous week was uninspiring. I try not to expect inspiration at mass. Faith is expected even when we can’t hear God or discern His will. However, God wasn’t done speaking to me. As I entered mass, the choir practiced "Here I am Lord," giving me chills. What were the odds that my favorite hymn, the name of my blog, would be sung? I thanked the Lord and smiled inwardly. I was on track with God, but He wasn’t finished.

This week’s gospel, Luke 16: 19-31, was about a rich man in hell for ignoring Lazarus, a beggar who only received kindness from dogs while the rich man ignored him. The priest's homily was a revelation that we all need to wake up to those in need. He shared a story of a boy who prayed with his dad, altering a line in a night time children’s prayer from "If I DIE before I wake, I pray the lord my soul to take" to " If I WAKE before I die, I pray the Lord my soul to take." When I heard the boy’s altered prayer, I thought, didn’t he get it right? Don’t we need to wake up before we die to be right with the Lord? The priest made the same point, surprising me. If that doesn’t confirm God’s answers, what does? I took my holy communion and listened to the closing hymn "Here I am Lord." I left saying, yes Lord, I am here, please use me and guide me.