God Is Not Too Busy | God Is Always Present No Matter What - Episode 26

Have you ever apologized while praying? Felt like your problems were too small, too repetitive, or not important enough for God’s attention? In this tender reflection, Lulu explores the quiet belief that God might be “too busy” for us — and why that simply is not true. Through Scripture, personal story, birds at the feeder, hospital waiting rooms, and everyday moments of ordinary life, this episode invites us to remember that Divine Presence is never far away.

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:32

Welcome. You are listening to Light in the Garden, a soft place to land, to breathe, and to remember who you truly are. I'm Lulu, and this podcast is my offering. Here we explore the quiet places where the human and the divine meet, through stories from the road, the lake where I spend many hours, and the long path of my own becoming. Each episode is simply a companion for your heart. Thank you for joining me today. I am so very glad you are here. This episode is called God is not too busy. I may have mentioned previously that I am currently, as of this writing, facilitating a class on the study of angels. Last night, as we were sharing our most recent angelic encounters, someone said that she preferred talking to her angel because she didn't want to bother God. Somewhere along the way, many of us began to believe that God had more important things to do than to attend to our every need. Well, this is kind of ridiculous because God or goddess or holy creator or universal energy or whatever one might call it, that being that created us in the first place is intimately concerned and aware of us. Have you ever apologized while praying? Literally saying within the prayer, I'm sorry to bother you again with this same thing. I know many other people have greater problems than me, so they deserve your attention. Have you ever felt like a needy child or believing that God is more interested in more spiritual people? As though somewhere there's a celestial receptionist saying, take a number, God is only handling larger catastrophes today. When I write a piece or make an object d'art or grow an amaryllis bulb, I don't walk away from it like it's trash. I cuddle it or coup to it or proudly display it. It's like my child. I was gifted with an amaryllis bulb for Christmas by some lovely friends. I lovingly checked the bulb every day, making sure to turn it toward the sun, and then when it bloomed, I took pictures of it and sent it to everyone, whether they were interested or not. I can feel affection toward a flower bulb, or if I can, sitting on my kitchen counter, how much more might the creator of life feel toward us? How much more might we, each and every one of us, be adored by the creator of the universe? This love does not come with a measuring cup that says, sorry, Lulu, you used up your allotment of care today, you're on your own. Or sorry, my child, that help request is just too small. I have bigger fish to fry. Or sorry, dear one, there is a child suffering from cancer, his needs are greater than yours. Sometimes we may feel completely forgotten or left behind the heavenly door. Sometimes we might even apologize for bothering God to ask for help. This is where good old fashioned scripture helps. I don't mean to make this particular podcast sound all preachy or evangelicky, but sometimes those old timey verses remind me of what's what. Psalm one hundred thirty nine verse thirteen, this is where David is speaking to the Creator and he says, For you formed my inward parts, you knitted me together in my mother's womb. Knitted is such an intimate word, isn't it? Have you ever watched someone knit? I have to watch, as this is not a skill I possess, the way the yarn and needles are held close to the body, the dance of hand and yarn is intimate indeed. We were not manufactured or mass produced, we were knitted stitch by stitch, carefully formed and intentionally made. Of course we would not be abandoned by the Creator after all that. And Matthew six hundred twenty six says Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? Well, I love watching the birds from my bedroom window. They show up each morning knowing that even if I forgot to fill the feeders, they will be lovingly taken care of. They trust their creator. There have been so many times in life when I didn't know where to turn for help. I'm guessing I'm not alone. Times when life events seemed impossible for me to handle. Miscarriage after miscarriage when the emergency room with its fluorescent lighting became my home away from home. My support system, meaning my former husband, was just emotionally and sometimes physically unavailable to me. And though it appeared I was alone within the pale green walls of the ER, sometimes I felt not all alone. This was years before I had language for spirituality, and even then I felt held and supported. I was not alone. God was not too busy. Perhaps God shows up less like a frantic emergency responder and more like a constant presence. In the hospital room or in the silence after an argument, in the dark at three AM and in the waiting room, sitting on the ground amongst the weeds in the garden, and in the comfort of the dog curled against your leg, in the cup of coffee growing cold beside you and in our next breath. With four children there was always one or more in some level of a crisis. I didn't always handle these states of affairs very well and wasn't particularly strong in the prayer department, but clearly, since they're all grown now, something was there. I was not alone. God was not too busy. The very thought that God is too busy for me and my small concerns rather undermines every bit of faith and belief that I have concerning an all-loving presence. I am a full-on believer that God is either everything or God is nothing. Which is the full Monty, the entire package of God in my life. If God is only present occasionally, then what kind of God is that? A part-time God? A distracted God? A God who appears only for spiritual superstars? My presence, my experience has been that God is present for me when I am present for God. And I am certainly no spiritual superstar. When I become very still and quiet, I can literally feel God right next to me. Regardless of how lifey life gets. I know God is here, right here, right now. I am not forgotten or shoved to the corner. Maybe the deeper question is not whether God is too busy. Maybe the deeper question is whether I am willing to believe I am worthy of attention, worthy of comfort, worthy of companionship, worthy of divine love that does not measure us against the suffering of someone else. I've grown and continue to dip ever deeper into my spiritual life. I'm learning that every aspect of life, mine and yours, is infused with God. Everything we can see or feel or taste or touch, including this keyboard beneath my fingers, carries divine presence. For me, this answers the question of is God too busy? How is that even a possibility of each if each atom of the world, including those atoms that make up my busy fingers on the keyboard, are too busy to hold the world together, to hold me and you together? Is God present when exhausted parents are overwhelmed in Nashville, Tennessee? Is God comforting the person crying alone in a parked car in Huntsville, Alabama? Is God beside the lonely widow eating soup in her kitchen in Tacoma, Washington? Or with the person waiting for biopsy results in England? Or with the teenager being bullied in Flagstaff, Arizona? Or with the man praying quietly in a cemetery in India. Or with me while I fold laundry. Maybe presence is not divided the way humans divide attention. Maybe divine love does not become diluted because millions are hurting at once. The ocean does not run out of wetness because one more wave reaches shore. Light does not strain itself to enter one more window at dawn. Perhaps God does not love us sequentially, but simultaneously, entirely, completely, without exhaustion and without irritation. So if today you find yourself hesitating to ask for help, if you feel your prayer is too small or too ordinary or too repetitive, perhaps let that thought go. Speak it anyway. Whisper anyway, cry anyway, ask anyway. God is not too busy. I'd like to offer a longer breathing space now, an invitation to let this teaching land in your body and not just your mind. I call it Step Through Your Gate. As always, please find yourself in a safe and comfortable position. And let's take a slow breath in. And then let it go gently. Allow your body to settle wherever you are right now. No need to fix anything. No need to become more spiritual or more worthy or more awake than you already are in this moment. Just breathe. Notice the surface supporting your weight. Notice the quiet rhythm of your breathing, the rise and fall, the soft movement of life within you. And imagine just for a moment that you are not separate from divine love. Not outside of it, not forgotten by it, not waiting in line for your turn to receive it. You are already inside it. Perhaps there have been moments of your life when you felt alone. Moments when help did not arrive in the form you hoped. Moments when the silence felt enormous. And yet, here you are, breathing still, living still, held by something larger than your understanding. Allow yourself now to remember a small moment of comfort. Maybe a warm cup of coffee, maybe a bird outside your window, or a dog curled beside you, a hand placed gently on your shoulder, a sunrise, a song, a whisper of peace, a hug. These are not small things. These are reminders. Reminders that presence is woven throughout ordinary life. Reminders that life and love has not abandoned the world. Reminders that you, dear one, are not abandoned either. Take another slow breath. Imagine divine love surrounding you now without pressure or demand. No scorecard, no disappointment, no exhaustion, only presence. Steady, quiet, nearby. And if there is something weighing on your heart today, something you've been hesitant to pray about, something you thought was too small or too repetitive or too ordinary, you may place it gently here. No apology needed. No explanation required. Just let yourself be held for a moment. Breathe in softly. Breathe out slowly. You are seen. You are accompanied. You are not too much. And you are never bothering God. Amen. Remember, my dear friends, even in the ordinary moments of your day, there is always light waiting in the garden. So until next time, take good care of yourselves and of each other. And I thank you from the depths of my heart for visiting me today. If you enjoyed this podcast, share it with your friends. I offer a deep bow to each of you. And finally, if you have found value here and would like to spend some one on one time with me, I offer spiritual companionship. I am a spiritual coach. Sometimes it really helps to have a steady presence beside you as you listen for your own inner wisdom and find your own way.