Recently, my husband was called up for jury duty. This is an inconvenience for most people, but it came at a particularly inopportune time for our family. I was in the middle of a difficult stretch with my anxiety and was relying heavily on his support throughout the day. Just knowing that I could text him when I was having a difficult time helped to calm my anxiety.
As a college professor, he was hoping to either be excused or assigned to a short trial. Instead, he was assigned to a two week long trial. As a member of the jury, that meant that he couldn’t have his phone or laptop with him during the day (other than on breaks). That meant that I couldn’t have any contact with him.
When I found out that not only had he been assigned to a jury, but that he had been assigned to a jury for the next two weeks, I had some choice words for God. I was so frustrated and mad. One day of not being able to regularly communicate with my husband had been hard. I was still in the midst of a really rough patch with my anxiety, in addition to the normal stresses of life. God knew that. So why would he take away my main source of support for two weeks? I was angry and didn’t hesitate to tell God.
This same week, the lectionary readings were full of the book of Job. As I read them I thought, “Oh, no…what if God is mad at me for getting mad at him? I was just trying to trust him enough to tell him how I was feeling, but what if that was too much for God to tolerate?”
God responded by giving me a week of graces.
For a long time, my prayer life has been really dry. A lot of that has been because of my anxiety, which was triggered in the quiet moments when I prayed each day. For most of my adult life, I have relied heavily on Mass and adoration to make it through my week. The Eucharist has sustained me through many rough patches, but I hadn’t been able to manage regular trips to adoration lately.
Then, in the midst of this rough patch with my anxiety, I began to feel a gentle tug to stop and visit Jesus in the tabernacle. The tug persisted, and I committed to trying to be in the presence of Jesus in the Eucharist every day, even if only for a minute or two.
I clung to that commitment during the first week of my husband’s jury duty, and I was surprised to find that God began to give me consolation in prayer. Midway through the week, my husband came home late from jury duty, and I was totally burned out from a long day of homeschooling and childcare. I looked at him and said, “I need to go to adoration. I need to go right now.” He said yes in a heartbeat, and I headed off to adoration sans children.
I arrived at our church and slid into a pew. The silence washed over me. The smells of beeswax and incense soothed my frayed nerves. And I sat there, gazing at Him.
As I drew in deep breaths, gazing at Jesus in the Eucharist, I felt my blood pressure return to normal. I leaned forward, resting my head on my arms.
And then, I fell asleep.
I’ve never fallen asleep in adoration. I was immediately reminded of St. Therese of Lisieux, who used to doze off during adoration as a teenaged nun. She used to always reflect that, like any parent, God particularly loved his children when they were sleeping. Knowing that she thought so made me less afraid of falling asleep in prayer. However, I had never before managed to relax enough in adoration to do so.
When I woke up, I lifted my head and the first thing I saw was Him. He was right there, loving me as I slept.
I finished my prayer time, and went back to my car to drive home. Then, it hit me. I had complained to God. I had been angry with him. Rather than fake piety, I had brought those feelings to him. Instead of being angry with me, he had responded by caring for me. He gave me extra consolations in prayer. He sent various friends my way, throughout the week, to support me and help me care for my children.
I trusted him with my feelings — anger, sadness, and fear — and he was big enough to gather me up in his arms. He had responded by “fixing it” – not by my husband being excused from jury duty, but by showing me that there were many people who cared about me and my family, and reminding me that I always had Him, waiting patiently in the tabernacle.
It wasn’t that my anxiety was cured. I still continued to deal, daily, with the cross of anxiety. My anxiety didn’t go away because of my prayer. But I was given the grace to know that I was loved in the midst of it. I was given the grace to know that I wasn’t carrying my cross alone.
It’s easy to slip into pious routine with prayer. It’s easy to go through the motions. It’s easy to withhold the weakest, most vulnerable sides of ourselves to God. But we don’t have to hide our weakness from him. We don’t have to hide our anger or fear. He’s big enough to take it, and he loves us enough to hold us through it all.
