When I was 13 my world kind of fell apart. At least as far as I could tell.
- I read about the holocaust. I visited a concentration camp in school. People killing each other in the most brutal ways, just a generation before me, because they were different and they were scared.
- I read about the looming danger of nuclear war. People might just destroy everything.
- My parents were getting divorced.
- We moved to the US with my mom. I lost all my friends over night.
Up until this point I had talked with God. I don’t know when we started our conversation, but I remember spending my evenings in conversation with a sweet, gracious being who was the creator of the world. As my sense of the world was undermined, my faith in God started to crumble. No one around me noticed, they were all too busy with their own troubles.
I stopped believing. I stopped talking to God. Why would I talk to someone who let so many horrible things happen in this beautiful world?
That was over two decades ago. In the meantime I have talked with God again under many different names. Shiva, Allah, Great Creator, Grandmother, Source, Yarrow, … and often God responds in the most miraculous ways.