It’s the Wednesday night service at the fundamental, evangelical church I attend. I am 16. I am not sure why I am here, other than it’s Wednesday and the way to holiness in fundamentalism is to show up to all the events and be Christian. It’s exhausting, really, as I’m never sure when to leave. Take tonight, for example. I would love to leave. Service is over, the lights have been dimmed, and the worship team has left the stage to take a break. But it’s prayer time, and the invitation has been offered to stay and pray. To invite the Holy Spirit, to be with Jesus.  Of course, as a Christian how can I not want to be with Jesus? I don’t want to stay. It’s already 8:30 and I have noticed several of my friends exit, including my friend Colleen.  Colleen’s mother must have noticed it, too, as she has run over to me to pray with me. To pray for me. To lay her hands on my shoulders and pray over me.

The beginning mantra of “Jesus,” and “Come Holy Spirit,” and “Yes! Jesus!” slowly gives way to clearer prayers. She is asking God to bless me. To watch over me. To bless the friendship I have with her daughter. To thank God for me and for the influence I can have on Colleen.

The prayer fades away into incoherent mumbles of her praying in “tongues,” incomprehensible utterances between her and the Holy Spirit. Finally I make out one phrase, “Thy will be Done,” and I am released.

She hugs me, smiles at me and asks me if I know where Colleen is headed to this evening. I don’t know where she is, but I can guess that it’s her new boyfriend’s couch. I am pretty sure Colleen’s mother knows this as well, which is why she has asked Jesus to have me keep an eye on her.

I say thank you, but for what I’m not sure. I grab my purse and keys off the padded folding chairs and take my leave. It’s after nine now, and the roads are relatively clear. It’s dark outside, and I take the time to cry. I am alone and I feel the emptiness around me, but that isn’t what is bringing the tears. The tears come because I feel used and am hoping desperately that it isn’t God’s will for me to become the babysitter of my friend. I end the prayer with a hopeless,

Thy Will be Done

I am 18 now, still trying to fundamentalize my way into heaven. I am at church, my own arms raised to Jesus singing. I don’t remember if it’s Wednesday night service, or if it’s after Sunday morning worship.  Maybe it’s Sunday evening small group prayer time and the small groups have gathered back to the sanctuary for more worship. Regardless, the worship team is center stage, and playing quietly. It sounds as if they are warming up. And in a sense they are.

People know what to do. They start sway, and hum, lift their hands up in surrender, and slowly the cacophony of instruments warming up gives way to a familiar tune. A light flashes on the wall and a hand is seen adjusting the lyrics of the overhead projector so that they are straight. We sing. We sing some more, and then the music fades into the background again. It is time for the Holy Spirit to make his appearance.

Everyone is praying Come Lord Jesus, I will obey Lord Jesus, but not me. I don’t know what to do to obey. I don’t know how to obey. I am not even sure I know what I am supposed to do other than raise my hands and wait. I am supposed to hear what He has to say.  I am not sure where to go, or why, I am afraid that I will do something He doesn’t intend for me to. I sway to the music and silently pray,

Thy Will be Done

I am 43 and I am Catholic. I am also pregnant. I am not ready for this, my youngest child is already eight. Worse, I am the only practicing Catholic. I am the only one of two people who believed NFP would work. I am the only one who bears this burden.  I am walking outside, trying to walk away from my fear, and anger, and loneliness. I am trying to walk away from my pregnancy. I am desperate, and alone, and I feel betrayed. My heart, in anguish and with nothing left to say, screams,

Thy Will be Done

As if it’s God’s will that a mother worry about her child and put the burden of that worry on a friend. As if it’s God’s will that I stand still and wait for a flash of lightning to write across the sky His will for me in a detailed plan. As if I am not married, and a child wouldn’t be welcome. As if it was a home without love.

As if I must spend my life gritting my teeth and clenching my fists and enduring the unpleasantness of God’s will.

Thy Will Be Done

As if it’s God’s will that I not have any faith.

As if God and His will are two separate things.

As if the entire phrase isn’t,

Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.

That man would bend to Him. That heaven can be on earth. That the Kingdom of God be here.

Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.

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