Groaning Pains

“But the Holy Spirit prays for us with groanings that cannot be expressed in words.” Romans 8:26

“I love the Lord, he heard my cry and pitied every groan.” Whitney Houston (The Preacher’s Wife soundtrack)

She sat by the window of her bedroom, sunlight streaming across her aged features. The sunbeams revealed a face full of wisdom. Casting her gaze around the room, she focused with her one good eye. I watched as she pulled her paralyzed, atrophied arm closer to her torso using her fully functioning hand. A huge sigh escaped her, full of hidden meaning as she exclaimed:

“Oh God!”

“What’s wrong, Mama?” Seeing her outwards signs of distress, the way in which she stroked her arm as if to comfort herself, I was concerned. She looked up at me from her wheelchair and replied:

“Nothing. I just felt like saying, ‘Oh, God!'”

I never did find out the cause of my late mother-in-law’s angst. Clearly, something was bothering her, although she would not share it with me. Instead she infused all that she was thinking into that simple phrase, Oh, God. I’ve come to find out since, that it is a prayer. Sometimes, just saying His name is a source of comfort, for HE alone knows what we’re going through. When we are in so much pain that we cannot form the words or give voice to them, an “Oh, God!” will do.

When I was a little girl, my family would travel “down south” frequently. Thirteen hours in a car filled to capacity with only stops to use the restroom. My mother would pack our meal so that we could eat along the way. She stored the fried chicken, fresh and hot, in a shoe box lined with foil. (She always kept shoe boxes because they could come in handy later. Don’t know where she kept them, though, for they would materialize at just the right time, as needed.) She supplied a homemade cake, as well – my mother made THE best yellow cake with a chocolate, ganache-type icing. I can’t remember the other accoutrements but I knew the chicken was always accompanied by a soft loaf of Holsum bread. Usually, our host would provide similar vittles for the return journey. Now that was some good eating!

On one occasion, my Uncle Edmund was driving and it was winter. We were on the road to “Miss’ippi” (as folks from Mississippi pronounced it) on a dark road. As he drove across a bridge, the tires struck a patch of ice, sending the car into a tail spin. As we, the occupants, held on for dear life, I remember my grandmother, Mama Bessie, crying out from the back seat: “JESUS!” The car stopped on a dime, just before we would have crashed through the rail. So sometimes, you don’t even have time to say a prayer. That night I learned that “JESUS!” would do in a pinch.

Still, there are other times when words fail us altogether. We cannot even find it in us to speak His name, so great is our misery. We can rest assured that he hears us, nonetheless. Our spirit cries out on our behalf, talking to Him, telling our Father what words alone cannot convey. Situations in life can drive us to our knees. Mentally, if not in actuality, we’re crawling in our disposition. Grief often has us on our faces, in the dirt, on the floor. But repeatedly, the Bible says, God heard the cries of the oppressed and he delivered them; famously so, in the case of the Israelites. Notably, so, in my own life. I am convinced that Our Father still hears every moan of distress. He sees every sign of dismay. During our most painful moments, we can take comfort. He hears our inner scream and will deliver us from our affliction.

Be blessed,

Loria

I love the LORD because he hears my voice and my prayer for mercy.
Because he bends down to listen, I will pray as long as I have breath! Psalm 116:1-2