I don't know where this is going

I'm a bit of a beautiful mess. And tonight, for a few hours, I realized that I am not alone. With a lot of conversation about prayer and good will to men, I was tossed inward... into self-contemplation, though I was in a room with strangers, I was also breathing in.... and out...., hoping that my stomach wouldn't get the best of me.

THE HAIL MARY
Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee: blessed art Thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of Thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.

Have you ever heard of the stations of the cross? Last year, at my Nazarene church, there were images of the stations, which I had never seen nor experienced before. Why is it that "we" seem so timid about the passion of the Christ? Catholic churches remember them 365 days of the year.

As I listened to Catholics discuss Lent, I wondered, "Why am I not saying anything?" Normally, I would cut in and say, "Actually, that's not the case at all." For some reason, I just kep thinking, "What is it that Jesus wishes me to do, what is the one thing that He wants me to say?"

Nothing.

I was sent to observe and listen. It was a most peculiar event that I actually sat so quietly. It was comforting that I knew at least two people in the room from College. However, I still had this feeling that I was a direct outsider-with special permission to listen to a discussion about prayer. I never mentioned I wasn't Catholic....

Which reminds me of something I remembered this week... While growing up in my grandmother and grandfather's (my grandma's second husband) house , I encountered several images. (She was Nazarene/He was Catholic.) First, I always found myself staring at a bust of Christ. He wore a crown of thorns and he was bleeding. He was crying tears of blood. "Who is this man?" I would often wonder. In every room, praying hands were also placed carefully throughout the house . They were soft, beautiful, and contemplative too.

These images represented one God, but two different practices of faith.
My grandmother was a praying woman-she was a missionary in many regards, especially at the local "all you can eat" buffet or the hair salon. She prayed for her first husband to become a Christian for 25 years. She got married to a non-believer. I'm not reccomending this to anyone, as I am not endorsing a missionary marriage, where you pray for your partners salvation, but that's exactly what my grandmother did and maybe that was the great commission for her life, as she lived by example and loved with Christ's love; she was a woman of faith who relied on God for all of her needs. It's this example that tenderized my own heart to seek after God.

From what I observed, my grandfather (her second husband) and grandmother loved each other very much, though they prayed different prayers before meals. I can assume she never prayed the Rosary or said a "Hail Mary," but I'm sure that my grandfather did on occasion; I don't actually remember him attending Mass; He always cared for my grandmother by taking her to a Nazarene Church.

Why explain all of this in detail? Where am I going?

Over time, I've realized that I have prevented my faith from growing; it's never expanded because I continue to depend on God in the very same ways I did at fourteen. At fourteen, I needed a protector, an interceder, a father, a healer....I'm starting to realize that I have to grow in Him in new ways-- This doesn't mean that God stops being a protector, interceder, father, or healer; it means that at twenty-eight, I begin to live as His daughter by growing in Him by allowing my faith to expand beyond what He has done for me, by expanding what I can do for Him and allowing my life to be transformed by Him.

My quest, my search, it is covering a multitude of questions and I am earnestly seeking His best.

Peace to you--