This morning over at the Good Letters blog, Kelly Foster writes about pessimism and prayer, the murderous and the marvelous in “Reckoning the Marvelous.” Kelly is a good friend, an incredible writer and a beautiful person. Do yourself a favor and read her ongoing work at Good Letters, and this post in particular.
I could even see myself clinging desperately to my own vigilant anxieties as if they could buoy me or conversely, as if remaining anxious and vigilant would somehow communicate to God, as if he was unaware, my utter seriousness and desperation for the need for a happy ending in this case.
I could almost see myself physically holding the tension, grasping after it, squeezing it in my hands, clutching it to my chest. I could almost envisage my anxiety as a pulsating cloud, a more powerful force for good or for a solid outcome than God.
My boyfriend, who is about as gracious and empathetic a human as you will ever meet, made a simple but profound point when I confessed my panicked visions to him.
“Maybe we have to make space in prayer for the belief that good things happen too,” he said, kindly, kissing my forehead and putting his arm around my shoulder.
Read the post in its entirety here.