Under the light of a nearly full moon, I drove my Xterra into the valley, and parked in an isolated cul-de-sac on the northernmost side of the valley. After shifting into park and pulling the parking brake, I turned off the lights, took the keys out of the ignition, and stepped into the chilly darkness. 

It was bright enough for me to see without any artificial lights. The moon casted dark shadows of the trees and grass on the foothills to my east and west. It was a completely clear night. Not a cloud in the starry sky. 

For the longest time, I stood with my back leaned against the Xterra, looking up at the moon and the stars, listening to the wind gently whispering through the dried autumn grass. I don't remember having any thoughts going through my mind. I was just in a state of pure relaxation, gazing up into space, letting my eyes wander from the Moon to the constellations. Admiring creation. 

Soon, however, I felt the need to speak. So, I began, not holding anything back. Thus began a lengthy prayer, basically where I asked God not for clarity, or some sort of "proof" of His existence or the afterlife's existence, or for a miracle, or anything like that. Honestly, all I asked for was help in shedding my selfish desires to "make everything right", and instead just let things be as they were. Truth was, as badly as I wished my grandma Shirley's cancer would miraculously disappear, and as much as I believed in God's ability to do just that, I knew praying for that wasn't right. I'm not sure how I knew. I just did.

So, instead, I asked for peace, strength, and courage. I asked that my grandma passed away peacefully, painlessly, and with the utmost dignity. I asked that I'd be given the strength to do what was needed when it was my time to do it. I didn't (and still don't) know what would be needed from me, but on that bright, clear night, I committed to doing what I had to do when I needed to. And, I asked God to give me the strength and courage to do just that. Even if that meant I'd be spending a month or two in Minnesota alone in that creepy-ass farmhouse, feeding logs into the 120-year-old cast iron stove so nobody would freeze to death, and cooking all of grandma's meals for her if she needed such help. I was (and am) ready and willing to do it, if it meant making my grandma's last moments easier for all of us. 

I also asked God to help us feel our emotions, knowing that many of my paternal relatives (including my grandma) have always struggled to really let out and process their deeply felt emotions. It's okay to be stoic. But, it's also okay to cry, even if you're a tough-as-nails, six foot five farmer like my uncle Wade, who during my grandpa's funeral, dragged me into a hug (that almost crushed me to death) and cried into my shoulder. I also cried, and we spent a good ten minutes or so embracing each other in front of grandpa's casket. 

Even Christ cried, such as when his best friend Lazarus died, as well as in the garden of Gethsemane the day before His crucifixion would take place. If even God could cry and feel/express His deepest emotions, we ought to do the same. It's healthy after all! And, it's relieving. 

I actually finished that prayer under the moon in tears. But, they weren't negative tears. Rather, they were tears of relief, and tears of faith. Indeed, for a time, I'd ignored God due to college and other problems. But, like every single damn time I try to skitter away from Him, something happens almost immediately to drag me back to Him. Or, at the very least, make me consider coming back to God, or letting Him come close to me. 

Of course, almost as though he'd been cued, a huge mule deer buck approached me from behind, his antlers gleaming in the moonlight. He stopped in the middle of the cul-de-sac, watching me as I stared back at him in awe. For several minutes we just stood silent and still, staring at each other, though relaxed as well. I didn't feel even slightly threatened, and neither did he. Finally, the buck pawed the asphalt and sniffed, raised his head and shook like a dog drying off, then pranced away into the grassy eastern valley below. 

While that could've been easily written off as a mere coincidence, considering just how many deer there were (and are) in the valley, I'd like to think it was a small way God was showing He was listening to me, and was with me at that moment, knowing that's just what I really needed.