Sunday, 16 October 2011

A Man's Conversation with God After His Wife Leaves - Nick Cabbiness

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by Nick Cabbiness on Saturday, 15 October 2011 at 02:44
Papa, I feel lousy, what do I do?  Feels like She rules my life—her opinions of me, her acceptance of me.  I don’t know how to get out from under it, can’t think of anything else, what do I do?  What do you say?

My dear son—you know I love you.

I do, Papa, I really do, but why isn’t it helping?  Your acceptance matters so much more than hers, so why can’t I seem to live by that?  Why does she tower over me with her “less than acceptable” evaluations?  I’m too old, not attractive enough, not good enough in bed, not masculine—take charge—enough.  I’m not enough.

Yes, you cannot be enough when she’s looking for me.

But if I were better looking, younger, ambitious, attentive . . . ?

It wouldn’t be enough.  All of them, each of them, would fall short.  For you are not God and neither is any man.  But you are my image and for a while the image, the reflection of what She seeks, satisfies.

But it’s hard, Papa.  When we stand before a mirror, it’s easy to tell which is the image and which is the real.  But if we’re the image, where do we look back to in order to see what’s being reflected?  Do you see how easy it is for us to think what’s standing in front of us—this beautiful creature—is what we really want?  After all, I can hold her; she can speak to me intimately and wonderfully . . .

Yes, my ‘images’ are better than yours.  When you stand before a mirror, it only does what you do, what you ‘tell it’ to do.  But my images are living; they can interact, as you say, “wonderfully.”  But they are images, nonetheless, and never ends-in-themselves.  To make them an end, however dear, is to make them an idol.  It is to ask from them what they cannot give, and just like the idols of old, they will stand there motionless and mute.  They will not have power for you, and they will not interact.  You were such an idol for her.

Well, I’ve thought a lot more about her being my idol . . .

And one by one, you became motionless and mute—she could no longer hear you speak and your power over her ceased.

She realized I was an idol?

No, you were just the wrong god.  She went to look for another.

But not you . . .

She is just as you—both of you do not believe that I AM what you seek.

Ok, Papa, part of me really feels drawn to what you’re saying, but another part wonders how practical and realistic it is.  I’m not trying to be picky, but I can’t see you . . . ?  And if I could, something tells me you wouldn’t look like her.  I’m being serious.  How can I know the same kind of intimacy with you? 

My son, I made her . . . as my image.  The power of that intimacy that you had with her (and if you think about it—that you have with her now, now that you can’t see her) is me.  There was never a close moment that you had with her that was not my closeness.  When she searched your eyes, so wanting to know you, I was the One searching and the One sought, but neither of you knew.  And so you fell from each others’ hands, lifeless and dumb.  My dear son, do not fear this time.  I am cleansing you from your idols as I am cleansing her from hers.  Do not be afraid.  I will only take from you what is lifeless and what has no power.  But I promise—and I cannot lie—I will never take from you that intimacy that you most desire—yea, I will only increase it.  I am the fountain and I am the source, have no idols before me, but come to my waters and find all you desire.

You’re having to pry my fingers away, but I know you’re right.  Papa, what about  . . . her . ?  Can you cleanse me . . . enough . . . ?  You know what I’m asking . . .

My son, trust me.  I am not lifeless and dumb.  I AM.  And the wife of your youth is safe with me.  Now—rest.  For I am doing a wondrous work, one that you will by no means believe, though it will happen in your midst.  But for now—rest.  Rest in my love.

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