Wednesday, 02 February 2011

• The Cross in my Room: Asking for a Concrete Sign, and Getting One

  As I have been struggling with my faith, I talk with God a lot. My "prayers" typically happen at home, in bed, in the tub, in the shower -- basically when I am relaxing. Otherwise, I just talk to Him in my head during the day.

  During a moment of weakness sitting at my computer at work, I couldn't help but think, "God, I'm really struggling." My thoughts unfortunately showed some sort of jealousy towards those in the Bible who were able to speak with God as I speak with my family and friends. I couldn't help but think of the miracles God has given me, but still selfishly wanting a sign. I just couldn't help myself from thinking, "God, couldn't you give me a concrete sign to help me on this path?"

  Of course I felt guilty, even apologized to Him. I reminded myself that it probably hurts God for me to question my faith.

  The day at work comes to an end and I return home. I take apart the entrance-way to prepare for the completion of painting. I put my bird in the master bathroom so I could get him as far from the paint fumes as possible. I start a load of laundry. I take out the ladder, the paint, the brushes. I put another coat of paint in the alcove, then take a break and eat some blueberries. I put rice on the stove for dinner. I painted another coat while the rice was simmering. Timer went off. I put rice in the bowl and took it into the master bedroom to give my poor lonely bird attention while I ate dinner.

  

  I lied down the wrong way on my bed once I finished my rice, brought my bird to my face, kissed him and looked up at the ceiling. Looked down at my bird to give him more attention -- wait a minute.

  I looked back up at my ceiling -- a cross. A perfectly, symmetrical cross in the cement of my ceiling. The cement had an oval of lighter cement around the cross, as if the cross had a glow. I started shaking and tearing up. This is awesome; how truly blessed!

  I texted my mother, sent her a picture. She was somewhat baffled that I had actually asked God for a sign, but I admitted that in my weakness, I had. She told me how truly blessed I was for such a prayer to go answered.

  This was a gift from God, and a special gift it is! I remember He is with me always, with this gift in my room.   

  Have you ever asked God for a sign?  What did He show you? 

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