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“I looked for God, but all I found was myself. I looked for myself, and all I found was God.” ~Rumi
There is a certain heartbreaking feeling that occurs when you realize that some of your prayers have been wasted.
An unanswered phone call is followed by a painful silence. But despite the pain, I still feel the urge to pray to a God outside of myself. It’s that old reflex of putting faith in something bigger, an invisible force in the sky, something that can apparently magically make things happen here on earth.
But it doesn’t always go that way, right?
I prayed that the cancer would go away. That wasn’t the case.
I prayed for the world to recover from climate change. That wasn’t the case.
I prayed that my business would earn me enough money to survive. That wasn’t the case.
I prayed that my book would reach thousands of copies. Not yet.
I prayed for world peace. The situation is getting worse.
So I quit. I stopped praying. When my heart opened wide and I felt a little desperate, I stopped expecting that.
I didn’t feel brave. It felt empty. But in the silence that followed, something changed within me. When the asking noise died down, a quiet truth emerged.
For a long time, I thought that was where my discomfort was coming from. From God. Even from other people. From a difficult situation. Blaming something outside of myself gave me a sense of control, a story to hold onto. But no matter how convincing the story was, the pain remained in my heart.
It took time, but I eventually realized that the root of my suffering was never external. It was an internal thing.
When I finally stopped waiting for life to do my will and turned inward, I was faced with something unpleasant: an obsession with control.
What I discovered was a mind conditioned to grasp, correct, be right, judge, compare, and push on. And most of the time, when reality didn’t match my expectations, that’s where the conflict began. I get stuck in thought loops, unable to see clearly, get caught up in my ego, and forget the heart, which is the essence of my being.
The heart is where our whole compassionate self lives. we feel it. We recognize what Howard Thurman called authentic sound. That’s our core.
So I haven’t completely lost faith. That means you’ve moved. I remembered what was real inside me.
Now, I believe that life will unfold the way I want it to, but sometimes it’s painful. Life often doesn’t match the vision we have. Burn your plans. It’s humbling. I’m disappointed.
And I still have that belief.
I believe in the goodness of the human heart. We believe that we can hold our grief in one hand and steady ourselves with the other so that we can get back up and take the next step.
I believe in the human ability to choose compassion over entitlement. Sitting despite the discomfort and still reaching for the right response. To place your hand on your chest, close your eyes and choose to respond from your heart rather than your head.
And maybe, just maybe, that is God himself.
Not the white-bearded man in the sky. Not a distant savior. But some of us know how to return to the body, not the spiral of the mind. Even your breath. To the quiet heartbeat.
What would happen if all of us, world leaders included, stopped looking to the God outside and turned instead to the God within?
Because the God within doesn’t have to be right. The God within does not rule or divide. God within creates peace. It’s peaceful.
And perhaps that is the faith we need right now.
Because when faith in something outside of us disappears, what remains?
we.
About Lala Charles
Lara Charles is an Australian writer who explores the deeper threads of life through thought-provoking personal essays and memoirs. Her work has been published in national and international publications. She is the author of the Substack newsletter “Deeper Threads” and a teacher at the global cancer support platform “Thrivers Ark”. Her debut memoir, “Joy, Individually,” is a powerful reflection on illness, identity, and self-discovery. To learn more about her work, visit laracharles.com.
