To See Your Face

I want to get on my knees when I pray. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Kneel down and worship the awe of possibility. The might of miracle. Let the hope of all you’ve been taught about the power of God wash through you, and when you have been filled the pain of prostration fades, evaporating like snow crystals in the March sun. Fiery nerves extinguished. Numbness no longer a current of electricity burning through kneecaps, down shins and into feet.

It’s just – gone.

I test this newfound state of painlessness. I put one foot in front of me, easily. Push up and let my left follow. Standing. Without wobbling. No swaying or catching myself to prevent a fall. Balanced. Strong. My body lathered with the balm of the Lord I’ve read about. The one who walked the desert. The one Luke proclaimed had the power to heal the sick, before a paralyzed man was lowered from a ceiling and laid at the feet of the anointed. Being faithful, he was forgiven and walked.

Is that what it takes? Faith. Forgiveness? A command to get up? So simple. This miracle seems. This healing. This cure.

When I was a child I ran. I climbed trees. Nestled myself into the bosom of her bark. That was peace. I breathed the sweet air of her flowers and felt no suffering. She held me. Mother. Nature.

There lies my faith.

In the grass. The pond with water spiders skimming, lily pads, fathead minnows.

The wild.

Untamed and growing. Expanding and giving. Of nourishment. Of hydration. Of shelter. Of warmth. Of air.

Is this my sin?

Looking down at the dirt, watching the ants scurry to and fro? Catching a deer in the forest noshing on a leaf? Finding solace with birds, comforted by the hymns they sing? Is this why I stumble when I stand?

Am I to look up? Beyond the stars. Beyond what is seen. Am I then to witness? Your face? The light of the God I was told makes impossibility possible?

I have faith.

In the collective power of the universe. A higher power. Sacred Feminine. Goddesses and Gods. Angels and arch angels. Essential angels. They can bring my healing. The power of multitude.

I’m angry.

I’ve been betrayed. By the teachings of the good book. Original and ultimate liberator narrative. Taught that there will be a man, a savior, who will heal me in an instant, if only I get on my knees and believe.

I believe.

In love. In light. In compassion. In grace. In hope. In pain. Sorrow and sickness. In the possibility. Faith.

Yes, even miracles.

I believe in my humanity. My doubt. My unwavering conviction in my unknowing.

Some say our dreams are where we enter the beyond. Another level of reality we can’t reach in consciousness. In my dreams I get up and walk. Some dreams come true, don’t they?

I can’t see your face with these mortal eyes. I can picture myself walking, though. Maybe that’s enough. That’s all I need.

The possibility.

I’ll see your face and walk to you.

Where does faith show up in your body, if at all? How do you reconcile belief in the possibility of health versus your lived experience with illness? In what way(s) does hope impact your day-to-day life?