And then one day, the darkness was gone. Something had changed. It was springtime in my life.
[Bonnie gave this talk during our summer program.]
Our theme this week is Hope in God’s promises. I want to share with you a period in my life when I lost hope in God’s promises for me, and how the Lord led me out of a terrible dark time. I’ll start with a song:
Even though the fig tree does not blossom, and the crops in the field all barren lie,
Even though the cattle barns are empty, and the sheep in the pasture die,
I’ll be happy abiding in you. And I will rejoice! I will rejoice! As the God of my salvation brings me through.
There was a time in my life when the God of my salvation seemed very far away and not too concerned about me. It was the darkest part of my life.
I had grown up in a Catholic family where faith was quietly important to us. I went to Catholic schools, and to Mass more often than just on Sundays. When I was in a Catholic college, a friend invited me to come with her for ten days to a place in Canada called Madonna House.
So after a long bus ride from Chicago, we arrived here. I thought the place was a little crazy, but ten days later I left knowing that I had been welcomed, accepted, and loved. And that meant a lot.
I went back to college, and during that semester, I went through a very intense but short-lived crisis of faith. Did God really exist? I concluded he did, but the next question was Am I going to have anything to do with him? I thought of Madonna House as a place where I could search that out, so, I came for the summer.
I didn’t have an answer at the end of the summer, so summer became winter. Winter became applicancy. Applicancy became promises, and I joined Madonna House.
Nine years later I was in our house in the Yukon. I loved the place and the work, but something changed, and I was very far from being happy. I was hurting, and I went into a deep space of darkness. It was very, very dark for me. I had no hope.
I felt like God had wooed me to himself, called me to give my life to him, and then abandoned me. I was mad at him about it, and I really hurt.
My interaction with the others in the house deteriorated. We could no longer communicate. We were four people in the house and it was very lonely and painful for me.
And at the same time, I was convinced that this was my vocation; I knew God had called me to this. I had heard Catherine Doherty say many times, “If you can’t love one another, close the doors of the house and learn to love one another before you serve other people.” And I felt like I wasn’t loving anybody.
Many years later, I recognised that at that time I was living through a deep disappointment in myself and had stopped believing in myself. I was moving out of fear, doing what I thought was right, but I’m sure it made living with me very difficult. Living out of fear does not bring peace.
During that time, a friend in our prayer group asked if I would go with her to a charismatic renewal conference in Alaska.
The conference interested me a little bit, but what mostly interested me at that point was getting away from my normal life, which was so painful.
That conference ultimately changed my life. The main speaker was a psychologist who was also a professor at a university in Montana. He spoke about a way to pray with Scriptures, a very specific way, and that was to pray out loud or to sing scriptural passages.
He gave a witness from his own life, the ups and downs (and he had many of them), and the disappointments and pain he lived through, and how God taught him to pray this way. He started teaching this to his patients.
One group of people that he worked with was in a mental hospital. And most of these people were never expected to get out of that hospital. As he taught them to sing and praise God in song, more and more of these patients knew freedom and were released.
I was desperate, so I thought that maybe I should try it. I went back to the house in the Yukon, and as I cleaned, I sang. As I cooked, I sang. As I walked, I sang short scripture verses.
I became aware of people in my life who I needed to forgive, and walking to Mass, I would audibly pray a forgiveness prayer.
I did this over and over and over — short Scripture phrases:
I can do all things in Christ who strengthens me …when you walk through the fire, I shall be with you …the Lord is my shepherd …
I did not feel the truth of these words, but I wanted them to be true, so I gave God my mouth and hoped he would let them settle in my heart.
This situation lasted for years until I shared my pain with Catherine Doherty, our foundress, when she came to visit. She decided I needed a change, and I was assigned to our prayer listening house in Moncton, New Brunswick.
I went from the far northwest to the southeast by bus and by train, and it took six days.
I learned the pattern of the train. I knew when I could safely go into the dining room and no one would be there, and I could quietly read Scripture out loud. I could stand in the little area between the train cars and sing. It was like a retreat, and it was a transition.
In Moncton I was in a prayer listening house. I listened to people, I prayed, I was running. As I was running, I would sing.
And then one day, the darkness was gone. Something had changed; it was springtime in my life. I had come to believe what I was singing. God was caring for me and his mercy was huge.
I had hoped that one day I would get out of that terrible darkness and be able to thank him for the release. Instead, very quickly, I was thanking him for that terrible time of darkness in my life when I had lived in hopelessness.
I had found the God of mercy. It was a mercy so great that I knew it was not just for me but for others.
It has shaped my life. I became a woman who knows hope in God’s promises.
It has helped me to listen and stand by the broken, those suffering deep pain, those with no hope, and to say, “I am here. I will be hope for you. I will be faith for you. Let’s do this together.”
I have become an apostle of his mercy, and I’ve seen his grace poured out upon lots of people. Yes, I have had hard times since then, some very critical hard times. But now I have a tool.
Singing God’s truths has become a way of life for me. Sometimes I sing because I want to praise God. Sometimes I need to hear his promises once again.
And when I start going under, it’s as if God taps me on the shoulder and says, “Start singing, Bonnie.”
I have no doubt that God’s promises are for me — and for you — and you — and you.
Artwork and calligraphy by Patti Birdsong and Susanne Stubbs.
