From its earliest expressions, my faith has depended on outside circumstances. My first prayers were pleas to the God I had learned of in church. I would list everyone I loved and then all of the horrible things I had heard could happen to a person, asking God not to let those things happen to the people in my life. Far from comforting, this prayer left me terrified that if I forgot someone or something, that thing would happen to that person. And it would be my fault. I measured the success of these early prayers--and all of those that followed--against the circumstances of my life.
I could have faith, until something "bad" happened. As soon as I or someone close to me experienced pain, generally at the hand of another, my budding faith in an unseen force for good withered. How could a God allow bad things to happen to good people? Where was the karmic justice in the needless suffering I saw and experienced? I couldn't make sense of it.
It didn't take long before I had seen enough to conclude that, if there was a God, he certainly wasn't interested in me. Rejecting any universal benevolence, I put my faith in what then seemed the only safe place--myself. I set about trying to figure out life so that I could ensure my own safety and happiness.
Over time, the well-intentioned, but inflexible demands that stemmed from this approach produced only chaos, confusion, and pain. The more I fought to have my own way, the worse things got. At first, I blamed those around me for my failures, sure that their deviations and interventions had undercut my otherwise perfect plans.
Eventually, I came to see that me and my attitude--that is, my angle of approach--toward life were the root of my suffering. But knowing that made little difference. I couldn't accept that my way wasn't working, because I had nowhere else to put my faith--or so it seemed.
Crushed by a series of self-imposed crises, I was finally able to say, "I don't know." That simple, but seemingly impossible statement was all I needed. Having finally--and totally--acknowledged that my way didn't work, I could begin rebuilding a faith in something that did.
As soon as I became willing to believe in something greater than myself, my life improved. But my rudimentary faith remained tethered to outside circumstances. Failing to get something I wanted or losing something I didn't want to lose would send me into a tailspin. I desperately wanted to have faith, but questioned whether the God I sought had any faith in me. When things went my way, I took it as a sign that I was on the right path. Everything that happened--or didn't happen--directly evinced the strength of my relationship with God.
I finally confronted the limitations of this approach when my daughter, Harper Jane, died at 24 weeks gestation. I couldn't reconcile her loss with the transactional faith I'd been practicing. For a time, I stopped believing in anything except the incomparable pain of her absence.
Deep down, I knew that I needed faith more than ever. I just didn't know how to begin. I could no longer believe that everything happening in my life had a spiritual purpose. There was no lesson worth my child's life. But abandoning that idea left me with...nothing.
Not knowing where to start, I picked up my favorite books about God and spirituality. I read, looking for anything to restore my faith. I sat at the bottom of my stairs reading page after page. Finally, I landed on a familiar prayer:
Lord, make me a channel of thy peace,
that where there is hatred, I may bring love;
that where there is wrong,
I may bring the spirit of forgiveness;
that where there is discord, I may bring harmony;
that where there is error, I may bring truth;
that where there is doubt, I may bring faith;
that where there is despair, I may bring hope;
that where there are shadows, I may bring light;
that where there is sadness, I may bring joy.
Lord, grant that I may seek rather to
comfort than to be comforted;
to understand, than to be understood;
to love, than to be loved.
For it is by self-forgetting that one finds.
It is by forgiving that one is forgiven.
It is by dying that one awakens to Eternal Life.
Although I had prayed it countless times before, I read the prayer for what felt like the first time. In each line, I saw the words "there is." There is hatred. There is wrong, discord, error, doubt, despair, shadow, sadness. These things aren't punishments. They just are.
At that moment, my faith experienced a seismic shift. I no longer looked at it as a way to avoid the darkness. Instead, faith became the way that I could find the light. When I encountered pain and suffering--in myself or others--through faith I could bring love, comfort, and understanding. I could find forgiveness, harmony, truth, faith, light, joy. The Universe ceased to be a tempest and became my safe harbor from the storm.
Life is rich. It is full of victories and vicissitudes. I now know that these are neither rewards nor retribution. My spiritual practice charts my path through it all, tethering me to a deep, abiding peace. It allows me to show up as my best and highest self for all that life has to offer. Although I cannot change the evils of the world, I can be the change I wish to see. I can draw from the well of universal love and pour that energy into life and the world around me. By focusing on what I am bringing to the darkness, I channel the light that ultimately reveals the path forward and pushes me to keep going.
Life is for me. I want to be here. Faith is what enables me to stay fully present. Here. Now.
For more is always revealed.
XO,
Katy
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