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She lay quiet, looking at the ceiling. 'I wish the peace to come back,' she said.
'He himself is the peace. He comes if we invite him, and stays, if we ask. It's ourselves who wander away.'
'Why do we wander away?'
'Its the old free-will business—we're charmed by the self, by our own pointless self-seeking.'
'What does he want from us?'
'He wants us to ask him into our lives, to give everything over to him, once and for all.'
'I can't imagine.'
'I couldn't either. I heard it preached and talked about all my life. I exegeted Romans and memorized vast amounts of scripture before I was twelve years old, but somehow it went in one ear and out the other—I got the bone, but not the marrow. Long after becoming a priest, I remained terrified of surrendering anything, much less everything. And then one day I did.'
'Why?'
'Because I could no longer bear the separation from him.'
She licked her dry lips. 'You said there would be nothing to lose.'
'And everything to gain.'
'I don't wish to be humiliated.'
'By God?' He took the lid from the balm and moistened the swab.
'By anyone, and especially God.'
'God does not humiliate the righteous. He may fire us in the kiln to make us vessels, crush us like grapes so we become wine—but he never humiliates. That is the game of little people.'
'I have always depended on my own resources.'
'God gives us everything, including resources. But without him in our lives, even our resources fail.' He applied the balm.
'Tell me again why the peace comes—and then goes away.'
'His job is to stick with us, no matter what, and it's our job to stay close to him. Draw nigh to me, he says, and I will draw nigh to you. When we wander away, all we need to do is cry out to him, and he draws us back—into his peace, his love, his grace. He doesn't wander, we do.'
'Why must it come to this? Why must our lives be shackled to some so-called being who can't even be seen?'
'But he can be seen. We see him in each other every day. I see him in you.'
She closed her eyes, A long breath from her, as if she'd been holding it back.
'I've hurt many people,' she said
'Despair can be passed like a wafer to everyone around us, especially to those close to us. Into the bloodstream it goes, and down along the family line . . . .'
'Such an emptiness,' she said.
'Blaise Pascal . . . said, There's a God-shaped vacuum in the heart of every person, and it can't be filled by any created thing. It can only be filled by God, made know through Jesus Christ.'
'I don't wish to go on . . . without the peace . . . .'
It was his own surrender he saw in her.
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