The Felt Absence of God

When Terri and I were first married we wanted to be parents but that just wasn’t happening (if you catch my drift). We considered adoption. That wasn’t as easy as we first thought. The expense was way beyond our means and it just seemed like a door tightly locked on the tenth floor of a highly secure building. Plan B was foster care. I think the social worker knew we were unwise when we agreed to “take any age, any gender, any condition of health, and any race.” We fostered about a dozen teenagers, all but one were boys and all were, in various ways, emotionally wounded. (Aren’t we all?) By God’s grace and power, we loved each one and they each still hold precious places in our hearts and memories.

Mark was eight years old and diagnosed as depressed. He had a smile that would warm your hearts from its coldest condition. He wouldn't quit till he made you match his smile with your own. For his birthday we gave him a slot car set. It was something we knew he really wanted. He took the big box to his room and closed his door. We gave him his privacy and thought he would explore his new toy. Later, we noticed a pile of plastic near his bed. It was the pieces of what had been the slot car track. No piece was larger than an inch. He had quietly destroyed his present.

We learned, while in family therapy with Mark that his father was “never in the picture” and his mother was charming but driven to have the attention of men. She preferred long haul truck drivers and would go with any who would welcome her company. After they were done with her, she would find her way back to the welcome embrace of her three sons. Dozens of nights, Mark would hug his mother’s neck on his way to his bed, only to awaken to the news of her unexplained absence. “Where’s Mom?” “Don’t know.” “When’s she comin back?” “Who knows?”

In the time he stayed with us, his mother would call him and set up a Saturday visit. This must have happened a half dozen times. Not once did she arrive. Not once did Mark fail to invest all the hope he could muster as he waited her arrival. Not once did he give himself permission to be angry or even outwardly sad.

The intimacy I once enjoyed with God is gone. This dark night of the soul has been my spiritual reality for over three years now. Like Mark, I am neither angry with God nor sad when I realize once again he didn’t show up. I don’t say that God is not sometimes present to me. In fact, God is often present, maybe always present. While there is not always a felt absence there is never the felt closeness I enjoyed for so many years.

My Lord, Father, Savior, and Friend what did I do to drive you away? We still talk, but not as close friends do. I still love you, but from a distance. “Take not your Holy Spirit from me.”