POWERFUL WINDS BUFFETED ME as I walked along the boisterous Pacific Ocean. But when I headed toward some steep bluffs, I found the forceful winds much less intense. When I stood next to the 60-foot wall of sand and rocks I could feel almost no breeze at all. The calm amazed me. It felt as though the world had completely changed, and it occurred to me that it was just as natural to listen to God, to stand with His perfection and peace, as it was to draw close to the protection of the rocky bluff. Both were readily doable. I never had to accept separation from God's peace, any more than I needed to stay in the howling wind. And I recognized this as true for everyone.
But what if we feel distant from God, stuck in a swirl of thoughts and words going out into empty space? What if we feel that God's thoughts and words are not reaching us? Do we leave our prayer feeling dissatisfied or even frustrated? What we've prayed about may still seem big, and yet the ideas we prayed with so small. We may wonder if effective prayer is for somebody else with better spiritual tools. Still, something within us senses that everyone's prayer can be transforming, and that healing prayer really isn't the prerogative of a sacred few. We intuitively accept what Mary Baker Eddy pointed out in Science and Health, when she wrote that "... all may avail themselves of God as 'a very present help in trouble"' (pp. 12–13).
When my dad passed away, I sorrowfully declared a number of spiritual truths to myself. This went on for some days and did little to alleviate the grief. I needed something more. One day I earnestly prayed to be very quiet, to hear God's Word instead of just praying my own words. The message that came had the ring of divine authority. It came simply as a strong conviction that all was well with my dad. Not all would be well, or might be well, but all is well. That's all I got, but that's all I needed. The grief left that hour and never returned.
