God is my constant companion.
Do you not know that you are a temple of God and that the Spirit of God dwells in you? (1 Corinthians 3:16).
I walk with Him. I talk to Him. I guess it would be scary if it weren’t so much fun having Him hang around. Sometimes, just for fun, I’d stop and ask,
“Are you here God?”
And without fail the answer comes before I’ve finished my sentence.
“Always.”
“Am I a God who is near,” declares the Lord,
“And not a God far off?( Jeremiah 23:23-24).
Now, maybe it isn’t God. Perhaps it’s my Guardian Angel or the Holy Spirit or whoever God sees fit to hang out with me. But to me, it’s the Great Guy himself. A father figure dressed in robes, flowing grey hair and beard, and a twinkle in his eyes.
Was I always this close to Him? Absolutely not. I believed in Him. I loved Him. I respected Him. But a constant companion?
It took life to kick me around a few times before I became aware of His “Presence.” And once experienced and encountered, my life changed forever.
An Encounter With God
The Lord is near to the brokenhearted
And saves those who are crushed in spirit (Psalm 34:18).
My first encounter came in June of 1984. We were living in Belgium, and I was heavily pregnant with our daughter. I was on my knees next to our bed, begging for a safe delivery, a healthy baby. The odds were against me. I was forty years old. There was Down’s syndrome in our family (a first cousin.) And although I’d had an amniocentesis test that showed a healthy little girl, nothing is foolproof.
I was so very tired. My family was in faraway South Africa. I put my head on the bed and just laid there when I became aware of a “Presence.”
I looked up and towards the window on the left. There was nothing visible, and yet there was a “Presence” in the window.
How to describe what I felt? I wish I could. It was warmth, love, peace, a knowing that everything was going to be just peachy.
The “Presence,” which was invisible, and I looked at each other. It didn’t leave. I had to struggle and waddle up from my knees as the little one had started kicking. Presence or no presence, she was sick of being squished against the bed.
And it was gone.
I pondered over this experience again and again, not sharing it with anyone. How does one share something that profound anyway?
A Presence
The next time I was blessed with a, would it be sacrilegious to call it a visitation, came ten years later.
We were going through a tumultuous time in our marriage. That little kicking bundle was at school in Switzerland. My husband was in the United States, and I was living in Spain. A long and convoluted story!
I was truly at the end of my emotional tether, and any reserves I might once have had were long gone. I sat down on our bed, too weary to go to my knees. I folded my hands on my lap and stared at the wall.
“I dwell on a high and holy place,
And also with the contrite and lowly of spirit
In order to revive the spirit of the lowly
And to revive the heart of the contrite (Isaiah 57:15).
Something made me turn my head to the right, and the tears came.
There, in the corner of the bedroom, was the “Presence.” I had no words, no desire to converse with whatever it was. I closed my eyes and allowed the quiet, the calm, the peace, and love to roll over me. Yes, I didn’t know how or when or what form it would take, but everything would turn out just peachy.
Did life turn out perfect with nary a rimple after this? Of course not. I had many lessons to learn and a long and hard road ahead. Then came the ultimate test for any person.
That little bundle that had kicked her objections against being squashed, who had turned into a beautiful, energetic teenager with long blond hair and bright blue eyes, found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time and became another statistic of gun violence.
We buried her on a crisp, clear day. I lowered her casket into the grave myself. I’d brought her into this world; I would be the one to see her to her final resting place.
I had no tears left. I was drained, a puppet walking, talking, smiling, saying thank you, wanting to be left alone. My husband took me back to the hotel, and I kicked off my shoes, lay down, and closed my eyes.
“She’s yours now, God,” I said. “Thank you for letting me have her for eighteen years.”
I wish there were a more descriptive word than peace. All I know, as I lay there, it was fluffy blankets and hot chocolate on a cold morning all rolled into one.
It was the “Presence”. It was God.
Behold, I am with you and will keep you wherever you go (Genesis 28:15).
In years to come, as I stepped back in time, I reconsidered whether there ever was anything physical to see. Was there a shimmer? A glitter? Something like a haze? Was it like looking through a super-fine lace curtain?
No, there was nothing to be seen. It was there to be felt. Something of which you stand in awe. Something that defies human description. It was –
I Am Who I Am.
God said to Moses, “I AM WHO I AM.” And he said, “Say this to the people of Israel, ‘I AM has sent me to you’. . . this is my name for ever, and thus I am to be remembered throughout all generations (Ex 3:13-15).
God is With Us
So, don’t ask me if God is real. Mine is. He does seem to show up in extraordinary circumstances. Instead, nowadays, we walk, and we talk.
Yes, I would love to have another visit from the “Presence” but maybe the fact that I am aware of Him wherever I go and whatever I do is the “Presence,” and I just got used to it.
The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all.
9 thoughts on “How Real Is Your God?”
How faith saved me from a world of pain through my encounter with God.
My grandmother was also a very special person; she always knew that I would overcome my illness. Every day she would take me to the chapel in the church and I would stare at the enormously realistic wood carved statue of Jesus. I would ask “even though you look like you are in more pain than me, can you ask your father to help me.”
Then my grandmother and I would go back to my hospital room and say this prayer together;
And now I lay me down to sleep and I pray you lord my soul to keep, but if I shall die before I wake, I pray you Lord my soul to take.
I ONCE WAS LOST
© 2016 Christine Mulvihill
Here I am drowning in the sea
A sea of everything I don’t want to be
A sea of all my failures and mistakes
A sea of my tears and splitting headaches.
Waves of sorrow wash over my face
I go under with a silent grace
I fall down deeper in my depression
Deeper and deeper into my obsession.
I’m overwhelmed with all my faults
My skin is burning from the salts
Salts of what I could have been
If only I could have seen
What the future has in store
How soon I would reach the shore.
Now my storm dried up in the sun
Maybe I am a lucky one.
Now I’m walking on water because I have Faith
This tortuous dungeon I have escaped
I hold His hand as He walks me to land
I bend down and kiss the merciful sand.
So happy to have found happiness again
Now the sun overpowers the rain
Amazing grace how sweet the sound
I once was lost but now am found.
Read more stories and poems of faith at; https://childhood-cancer-survivor.com/
Yes ! That’s a delicate link to your past, and pain, recombined to assuage the same in others. Thank you.
Your Job like trials reminded me of Jesus’ prophecy to Peter, who would be girded, then lead by another, taking him where he did not want to go; the hardest path. The nuns always said this could happen – to test our faith – and that it came in many forms. I was driving down a very long street in a cold March wind and rain. Slogging along in ankle deep water was a poorly dressed older man, hell bent on going somewhere. I picked him up and immediately questioned the responsibility taken on. He didn’t speak English, was very drunk, so much that I had to roll down my window to clear the air. Having an idea where he might be going, right on my way, I kept gesturing, as did he. When after a mile, past the two assumed destinations, past mine, my mom’s house, I set a limit. We were at
the junction of a primary route and to cross that made no sense. But he kept gesturing, further. I thought about the nuns warning, that we might encounter angels. I prayed that
my decision to cross the road and let him off, was not wrong as I was out of faith. He then
gestured to a little know lane where trailers were parked. He got out without thanks. Oh
no, I said, I want to know your name : Jose or Carlos or Manuel. He half turned and said
Jesu, uncommon enough, and so fitting.
This is just lovely! And yes, angels appear in some very strange disguises. I had something similar happen to me, I’ve asked permission to share the link here. The story appeared in another publication. If I can’t, I’ll send it to your email. Thanks for reading and responding! And have a Blessed Sunday.
Found the link! When you have a little time -This is the article that reminds me of your experience. Happy Sunday!
https://catholicstand.com/walk-in-my-ways/
Morning Steven!
And from me, a heartfelt thank you for reading and responding. I am so blessed in so many ways but the fact the He is with me always is the greatest blessing of all. Last night, one of those insomniac nights where one’s mind goes in ten different directions, I once again had these long conversations because I know He is there and listening.
And as you so rightly said, it’s unique and personal to us as individuals.
Thanks again and Blessings on your day.
Dear Ida.. A hearty thank you for your wonderful article.
I was fortunate enough to spend a year in Mexico in 1986-7 and it was astonishing to me there how people routinely talked of such experiences as you describe , very matter of factly,
in betwen talking about the weekend and the shopping. When I came back to the Uk I realised that this kind of experience is not a specifically Mexican phenomenon; it is simply that in the UK we are trained from childhood to ignore such things. I often think that if the Archangel St Michael were sent to Market Square, many people would just fail to see him and if he were ponted out to them claim it was simply a trick of the light,. I was later very struck by a conversation I had with my husband’s grandmnother who was quietly British and not given to talking about much other than practical matters. Just as we wre leaving their home one day, standing in the hall and saying “good bye” she smiled mildly and indicated the area about the door to the kitchen and commented, as if pointing out a flower arangement that that was wherew Our Lady had appeared to her. I don’t remember her either before or thereafter taling about nything specifically religious.
C.S Lewis was insightful when he wrote about Narnia; many of us have repeated opportunities to go “through the wardrobe door”. We just have to avoid being like the dwarves in “The Last Battle”.
Bless you,
Karen in Cambridge, UK
Karen! Thanks so much for reading and responding. I’ve come to the conclusion that the weather has a lot to do with it. Don’t laugh. I lived in Belgium and northern Spain for many years. The Belgians are like the British, reticent, coming across as cold until you know them. Spain? Oh, mamma, it’s life outside on sidewalks and singing and praising and The Blessed Mother is everywhere. I also found that in Southern Italy and Greece. Move north, and the people keep their emotions inside.
The other thing that struck me as I came to live in the States, the people of color are more apt to worship and acknowledge things you can’t see than us whites. And as I live with my heart on my sleeve it’s pretty obvious where I feel best!
I must reread Narnia. High time! No wonder kids can see things we don’t. My husband no longer looks at me strangely when I tell him I see God’s face in the flowers and trees!
And if it’s not too much to ask, do stay in touch. Thanks again!
That was a beautiful story. God was discernibly there for you when you needed it most. It is especially beautiful how God’s interaction with us is so unique and personal to us as individuals. His Mercy is limitless, and it is the Greatest of Gifts. Thank you for sharing!