He who delivers the arrow, also draws it out.

It is amazing to touch upon your own human frailty....to, in the midst of feeling strong, suddenly be urged into the stark realization of just how little strength we possess in ourselves, and just how much is only enabled by grace.

How is it that we can forget? That we can daily receive tastes of the formless nectar of whatever or wherever heaven is, yet somehow find our ways to ignore?

I have problems trusting God sometimes. I say "sometimes" because I'm inconsistent. My heart is there, yet my feeble strength tries to take over when the wheel should be given to much bigger hands. I sometimes question the point of asking God to change my health, or situations in my life, or other peoples' lives, to fix world poverty, to bring an end to war and killing. I neglect to ask God for help throughout the day. After all, He is all-knowing, and why should I find the need to remind Him of situations which He and I are both so painfully aware? If I believe God has a plan, what good does it do, to ask Him to intervene? If it is part of the cosmic blueprint, won't it happen, whether I ask or not? Further, why - how dare I, even - ask Him to act in situations of my life, where I know that He has given me enough strength to act and push forward? How dare I ask for more?

I question these things, and sometimes I even get to the point where I start to think that maybe these practices I've been taught are just a means created by humans to trick themselves into thinking that they are actually talking to their creator...but I know this isn't true. I might feel that way one moment, but the second that I come face-to-face with my frailty, I lose all semblance of that defiance of faith.
This afternoon I was turning down a one-way street in a 25mph zone, when literally out of nowhere a woman driving a large SUV came flying up the wrong way, about 20 feet from me, going at least 60mph. I won't bother with the math of reaction time or the few seconds available to attempt avoidance of the tank that was headed for me - all I know, is that in that split-second, my heart whispered a plea to God for protection, faster than I could even think about or rationalize it.
Thankfully, the SUV swerved onto the sidewalk enough to maintain its speed while completely avoiding my car. I was immediately glad that everything was fine, and started to think, rationally, that my uber-safe car would have mostly protected me, had a collision actually occurred. What was impressed upon me though, was the fact that my natural reaction, minus my intellect and willpower, was frail, and it was desperate, for the safe arms of my protector. Thank God for moments like this.

Perhaps my questioning and doubt are not charges upon the Almighty, but drivings placed in my heart that desire to know who I am talking to, and why I am doing this, and what I am expecting. To just ask for things, blessings, and gifts is not a sign of a relationship, but a shallow belief in a blue-cloud genie, a vulgar parody of what the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob actually is. Not that I know, or even have more than a faint grasp as to the nature of Him/Her/It, but I don't place my belief in a golden lamp that brings reality to my whimsical desires. I don't want a slot-machine God. I think the primary danger about the way prayer is enacted by many Christians, is that we can very easily reduce Him to one.

I think that it is good to question things - so long as it leads to some sort of revelation, or opens up doors to deeper truth. However, I also am learning that it is not of chief importance - it is not as crucial as being firmly planted into the fertile soil of simple faith. The truth is, we are always desperate, whether we realize it or not. So much gets drowned out in the comings-and-goings of the everyday, that we can start to think that we are just fine, thank you, that we can handle it all on our own, and that we, beg your pardon, are anything but desperate and frail.

But we are, every one of us.

Just as the thrill of a beautiful experience can linger for weeks, just as we can feel the impression and scent of a lover even in their absence, we must hold on - if only to a degree - to these moments of childlike fear and desperation, wherein we - despite all knowledge and jaded experience - reach upwards with feeble arms, hoping to be picked up by our father. This secret humiliation is equal parts pain and healing, and synonymous with pure faith. When we are desperate, we can more easily realize just how little we can do. It connects us with Him, and should, I think, connect us with the rest of humanity, which is hurting in 6 billion other ways than we are ourselves.

It is these glimpses into our own humanity that free us from our own stubbornness long enough to realize that we, too, are weak . . . we, too, are wretched . . . and we, too, need Him.
It is He who is strong. It is He who gives us the ability to stand.
It is He who gives; it is He who loves.
We have nothing but rags.
In ourselves, we are nothing but dirt.

The cup from which we are called to drink may be cracked and wooden, but it is from those splinters that become lodged in our lips and draw out our own blood, that we are given true life.