Does God hear me now?

As I approach my 68th year around our sun, I'm doing a lot of reflecting. My active days are full of grandkids, home repairs, charity work with Chispa Project, all while pastoring a small church in the Sierra Nevada foothills. With this summertime busyness, I was feeling my God connection was breaking up. No, not a complete disconnect, but my reception of the divine felt crackly and fuzzy. You know, the kind you get from a fading phone signal. You walk in circles, waving your phone above your head asking, "Can you hear me now?" I found myself needing to find a place, a moment, an event, to reconnect with God. As I minister, I hear people claim they don't need a church to find God. They tell me God can be found anywhere – even on a beach. So earlier this summer, I drove my wife and 12-year-old grandson to Half Moon Bay for a few days off. I went to see if God indeed had beachfront property in California. It had been one of those weeks where the inconsistencies of my faith had been apparent to more than just myself. It was one of those weeks where I was longing to simply be the same person I had been the previous week. So, as my grandson dug tunnels in the sand and my wife kicked at the cold waves, I walked alone up the rocky beach, explaining to God my ground rules of our upcoming conversation. "I just need a moment to double check stuff with you – a moment to make sure you're still covering my back. "So, I thought I'd say 'howdy' here at the beach. I know that you make every day special, but I'm needing this day to be extra." There, on the water's edge, I found an isolated rock and quickly breached its top. Sitting atop the rock with my soul exposed, I began scanning the waves for some kind of epiphany. As I searched, the cold wind pounded my heart like a burglar's hammer working to unlock a treasure, so I hid my face beneath my sweatshirt's hood. From this rock, I hoped to find a still place, a space where I could both hide and be exposed, see and be seen – an abode high enough to make my prayer heard but low enough to nurture humility. My prayer began: Lord, find what I've hidden. Touch what I've hurt. Open what I've closed. Teach what I wouldn't learn. Fill the places I've emptied. And empty what consumes me. Release what I've captured. Hold what escapes me. Invade what I defend. And defend what I've surrounded. Amen. Opening my eyes, I saw my grandson writing messages in the sand, but the finicky waves quickly rinsed them away, like an Etch-a-Sketch turned upside down. On the horizon, I watched the Pacific swallow the setting sun. "Wow! God really does own beachfront property!" As I made my way back to my family, I inched around a deep rocky tidepool and fell – hard. Blood oozed from my shins and elbows, but I still managed to get up to check if anyone was looking. Becky came running over with my grandson. The next day, bandaged, but ambulatory, I heard God's voice again. "See what I did there, son. "I met you on the top of the rocks where I heard your praises. "But I also fall with you to the bottom of those rocks. "I always hear you perfectly, even when you've lost reception on your end. "I'm with you always and I will never leave you." My reception was clear again. Column partially excerpted from Norris Burkes' book, "Thriving Beyond Surviving." All of his books can be ordered on Amazon. Autographed copies can be obtained on his website www.thechaplain.net or by sending a check for $20 for each book to 10566 Combie Road, Suite 6643, Auburn, CA 95602.