God, Give Me a Sign

I went in for surgery to remove a benign fibroid that was getting too large. When I woke up, the doctor told me that they had seen some unrecognizable cells during surgery and had made the fateful decision to pre-empt any possibility of the silent killer, otherwise known as ovarian cancer.

I was in a complete state of shock while not yet fully conscious. My fingers traced the staples zippering down my abdomen. I was dumbfounded. “God, what have You done to me?” My chances for bearing a child had rapidly gone from “declining” to a very solid “none.” I was horrified. My narrow window of opportunity had slammed shut.

My chances for bearing a child had rapidly gone from “declining” to a very solid “none.” I was horrified.

The following weeks, I felt aggrieved and completely deflated as a woman. I was plagued with the ultimate human question – why do bad things happen to good people?

My body was now scarred, and so was my soul. I returned to the synagogue as soon as I was able, hoping my attendance would reignite my spirit, or at least compensate for my inability to pray. I didn’t just question God’s ways; I had the audacity to be angry at God Himself—a feeling I was not very comfortable with.

In times of distress, I’d pray to God fervently and hope He heard. When I witnessed seeming injustice − although I understood that there is a bigger picture I cannot see and that justice would prevail in the end − sometimes it left me feeling indignant and angry.

Angry at God

I knew I had much to be grateful for, so I made an appointment with a rebbetzin, my mentor, to talk it through. I’d attended her adult classes over the years. I knew she would be understanding and kind, but I felt more vulnerable than ever. I told her about my surgery and my grief. I told her I was angry at God, and ashamed to have had the audacity to be angry at Him.

If you are angry at God, that means you still have a relationship with Him.

“If you are angry at God, that means you still have a relationship with Him,” she reassured me. “If you were indifferent, now that would be a problem.”

Whew, I thought. So, I’m not completely lost.

“I can barely pray when I feel this way.”

She looked at me with kindness in her eyes and said, “You are human. It is normal to grieve and to question. If you cannot use the prayer book, pray from your heart. Talk to Him directly. Tell Him what you feel.”

With one brilliant stroke she absolved me of the burden of guilt. She reassured me that faith is often coupled with doubt, and that it was okay. She gave me an alternate way to speak to God till this anger would pass. She gave me a way to move on.

I carried on, but I struggled. At this stage, my dreams of motherhood were elusive. Perhaps I’d be a stepmother or adopt a child, but it seemed unlikelier than ever. I had spent an enormous amount of time and effort trying to become a Jewish wife and mother, however by God’s design and my missteps I had never achieved that goal.

I doubted the power of prayer. Yes, it was very nice that Sarah, our foremother, prayed for a child, but I was fairly certain that I myself would not have a child at 90 years of age, no matter how hard I prayed – notwithstanding Al Pacino or Robert de Niro. (I wouldn’t even want a miracle like that at that age.) It already felt too late at this stage.

In the Bible, Sarah, Rachel and Hannah were “remembered” on Rosh Hashanah and granted children. But there were many others – even great, pious rabbis and their wives – who were denied children. Were their prayers meritless? Were mine half-worthy or even heard at all?

I had learned that no prayer was ever in vain or unanswered. Perhaps in place of what was intended, another blessing was received. But I was a grieving woman with no clear answers.

God, Are You Listening?

One Shabbat morning, I sat with my prayer book in my lap unable to pray – it felt completely futile. I stared at the words on the page without seeing them and could not say them. I shut the book and placed it back on the shelf. The words on the page did not express what I was feeling. I could not pray from my heart, as I had been advised, either. God knew how much I’d tried and how much I’d cried. I hoped He understood.

Sunday morning, I felt miserable for not having prayed on Shabbat. I was determined to pray this time. I knew the world was unfair and that I could not see the big picture. I knew I had plenty to be grateful for, but I still didn’t want to be one voice in a community of voices. I wanted to stand out and be heard.

God, I want a one-on-one with You.

This time, I heeded the advice and I prayed from my heart. God, I’ve prayed to you for years and years begging for a spouse, for a family. Perhaps the answer is “No.” Perhaps there is a reason why I’m still alone. But how do I know that You’re listening to me or hearing me at all?

I felt absurd. I rocked gently in my recliner, my prayer book open, flat on my lap. I closed it. Please give me a sign that You’ve heard me, even if Your answer is “No.” I beg You, give me a sign so that I know.

I leaned my head back, closed my eyes, and sighed from the intensity of my efforts. The phone rang, piercing the air and startling me.

Ha. That must be God. Is He going to sound like Morgan Freeman? Could it be a sign?

I had goosebumps. I didn’t recognize the phone number. I didn’t feel like talking to anyone but if I didn’t answer the phone, I’d always wonder who it was.

I grabbed the phone.

“Hello?”

“I’m calling from the charity for...”

My heart sank. I cut her off, “I never pledge over the phone. You can send an envelope my way....” I was in no mood for this sort of call.

“I’m not calling for a donation. I’m calling to let you know you won our Chinese auction and should be getting your prize in the mail soon.”

“I won?” I’ve never won anything in my life.

“Yes, you won a tri-color gold necklace and bracelet set. Please let us know if it does not arrive in a few days.”

It did arrive – it was beautiful and dainty with little white, yellow, and red gold beads.

Was the call coincidence? Divine Providence? I had begged God to give me a sign and the phone rang. I call it my “God-is-listening” jewelry, and I wear it when I need God close to me.