"I feel like I'm waiting for something..."

My dear friends, I've put off writing something for feeling the need to write everything, which is just impossible. When I survey the last two weeks and a few days alone, there is much to relate of ministry here in Compiegne but, well, it will have to go unwritten. Suffice it to say, there were parties galore, multiple Thanksgiving dinners and observations, new acquaintances made at L'Arche, more learned of why I am here, new levels of conversations with GBU women, the Hemmerles' departure, and on and on. What I write below, however, is of today, fresh and real. I don't mention a name because it's personal but when you pray, I'm sure the name is known.

I wove my way down slender streets, whizzing past stalled cars and leisurely walkers as I rolled to what has become "my holy space" here in Compiegne. I prayed St. Germaine's doors would be unlocked. The padded wooden door stood slightly ajar and as I silently praised God for this grace I walked my bike over to a secluded spot and locked it up. Entering the church I maneuvered between the chairs and up the aisle, not stopping to cross myself because, well, I'm not Catholic and it just wouldn't be faithful to them or myself, not the least too the Cross. I found the row of chairs most secluded in darkness caused by the falling shadow of a concrete pillar; I had no idea what was coming so I knew I needed some sort of covering.

She sat there, atop her stool, I above mine, sipping drinks and catching up on our week-ends' activities. Her quiet voice and timidity always gives me cause to lean forward to hear better, but her sweet laughs in between always give me reason to throw my head back as well. After having chatted on a bit as we usually do to begin, I asked how she needed encouragement for the rest of the semester, what kinds of questions did she need someone to ask her to check in with her. And it was precisely from her response on that I sensed this was no ordinary conversation nor that our interactions hereafter would ever be able to be the same. What ensued was a literal pouring out of thoughts and needs as connected by questions I thought and prayed long and hard on before asking. She wants to be more invested--in her studies, in her life, in GBU, in her faith. One comment led to another and I continued to learn that she desires to grow in her confidence to make decisions and to be a person in general. She shared that she wants to be more engaged and confident in her faith, better knowing of God. And this is how she said it.

"When I pray, I ask God to grow my faith and to give me confidence in it. ("j'ai envie de...") I want to understand the way for my life. But it never comes. I feel like I'm waiting for something but I don't know what. I have been waiting."

If I could have fallen back against the wall I would have, not at the shock of what I was hearing but that I was hearing it. Here is a young woman, I realized, asking God desperately, Show me the way and teach me to walk in it. And she has just invited me quite freely into that asking.

Our time continues on and I ask some more questions so I know how best to pray, how best to encourage, what resources to seek out. We talk about the source of confidence, joy and happiness, "le bonheur," what she means by "chemin" (a way), and more. The time has passed quickly and the project she needed to work on has been forgotten as she eyes the clock and says, Oh, I didn't even know the time.

I tell her that I am grateful for her sharing, that I will continue to pray and think on what she has talked about for our next time together. She looks at me with a most deep sincerity and says, Thank you for listening.

I sit straight up in the uncomfortable wooden chair and look towards the altar. I want to press my hand out and against the chilled pillar for support but instead I let my glove-clad hands rest in my lap. I do not even know how to pray or what to pray but I am reminded of testaments in the books of Samuel and Kings when the work of prayer prompted the work of God. I recall too what I read in I Thessalonians this morning about the love between God's people and his servants. So I ask, Lord, I have no idea what she is waiting for, but I pray that you will move and that the desire of her heart to know you, to walk in you confidently, and to have joy will be heard. I pray that you will give her what neither she nor I know to identify. Please Lord, please. The tears come as I knew they eventually would, and I know these are the sort of tears that lead to sobbing and scenes that are sadly not fit for the stoicism of our churches. So I sit there and try to be as quiet as possible, but I cry and I keep praying and eventually my scarf gets wet and I realize I have no Kleenex so I'm going to have to pull it together if I want to leave in semi-respectable fashion. I slowly raise up, take my heavy bag, and head to the door. Valerie from L'Arche is sitting in the back and I quickly wave and walk out.

It has rained and I did not tie the plastic bag over my bike seat. Brushing off the cold drops and unlocking the chain, I pull the bike away from the fence. I take the handles and begin walking slowly to the bottom of the yard, toward the street glistening and the cars passing. I am heavy yet light. I am blessed yet questioning. I am simultaneously prayerful and thoughtful. I know I'm going home to make soup but I am also asking, Where to now, Lord? Where to now?