Are You There God? It’s Me, Nava

At eleven years old, Margaret asks God the kind of question many of us still ask decades later: are You there?

In Judy Blume’s popular book, Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret, Margaret is on a journey of figuring out what she believes. She has one parent who was raised Christian and one who was raised Jewish, leaving her somewhere in the middle, speaking to God in her own private way while trying to understand where she belongs. I have been thinking about Margaret lately. Not because my questions are the same as hers, but because the feeling is familiar: wanting to believe, wanting to understand, and sometimes not knowing how to make sense of God. I think there is a reason the title has stayed with so many people. It captures something deeply human: the desire to reach God, even when we are unsure what we believe, where we belong, or whether anyone is listening.

I don’t know about everyone else, but I find myself moving through cycles of doubt. Much like the moon, my faith and conviction wax and wane through different seasons of life. There are times when service fills my cup, stimulates my mind, and nourishes my spirit. And then there are times when it feels like I am simply going through the motions, showing up because I feel I should, but feeling no connection to what I am doing and quietly waiting for it to be over. There are seasons when I feel certain that God is real, that Baha’u’llah is His Messenger, and that His teachings will contribute to the betterment of the world. And then there are seasons when I find myself questioning the existence of God altogether, and once that question enters the room, everything else seems to come tumbling down with it. I am in one of those seasons now.

Looking at everything happening in the world these days, I find it difficult to understand the goodness of God. I remember being at a Baha’i conference a few years ago where a member of the International Teaching Centre said something along the lines of, “As Baha’is, we are saddened by the state of the world, but we are not confused.” I believe what they meant was that the Faith gives us a framework for understanding the chaos of this moment; that the old, failing structures of the world are breaking down, and that this painful process is part of humanity moving toward something more just and unified. But I do feel confused. Why must there be so much human suffering in the process of the old being replaced by the new? Why do some people move through life surrounded by ease, stability, and opportunity, while others spend every day struggling to meet their most basic needs? Why are some born into abundance while others know only hunger, fear, or displacement? Sometimes it feels like a design flaw. Shouldn’t God be kinder to His children? I think about the fact that there are people who have spent their entire lives surrounded by war and violence, while I have largely moved from peaceful place to peaceful place. How is that fair? Shouldn’t every human being be able to flourish in this one, singular, precious life?

These questions don’t just arise when I look at the world. They also appear in my own life, in smaller and more personal ways. There are moments when I feel exhausted, spiritually disconnected, or unsure whether faith is actually contributing anything meaningful to my life. Moments when prayer feels like words bouncing off the ceiling. Moments where I wonder if I am speaking into silence. And yet, part of me continues reaching toward the possibility that Abdu’l-Baha describes when He writes, “I am with you always, whether living or dead; I am with you to the end.”

Oftentimes in our own lives, it is only in hindsight that we can understand something. When I was 19, I moved to Boston for university to study music. I had an extremely difficult time; I was lonely, isolated, and not enjoying my classes. During a weekend at Green Acre Baha’i School, I laid on the floor of Abdu’l-Baha’s room and prayed ardently to my grandfather, who had passed away the year before. I asked him to show me what to do, because I was lost, and had no answers. Over the course of the next day, I felt increasingly certain that I needed to go to the town my family had just moved to. I didn’t know what was next, I just knew I had to get on a plane, leave Boston, and be with my family. Once there, though my parents were shocked to see me standing on their doorstep, it became clear through the overwhelming sense of calm that washed over me that I should live with them again. I still didn’t know what I was going to do. I had no Plan B, no idea what I would study instead of music. But I followed the feeling, and also trusted that my grandfather had led me there. I ended up meeting my now-husband in that town and attending a university that suited me far better, eventually leading me toward my current career. But in the middle of all that turmoil, of feeling like I had failed by dropping out of music school, the purpose of my pain was not even remotely evident. Looking back, I think that period of my life was one of the clearest examples of what faith has looked like for me; not unwavering belief, but trusting a feeling I could not logically explain and taking the next step anyway. One of my favourite quotes says, “Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.” 

I’m learning that faith is not linear, but something we move through in cycles. There are seasons when God feels close, and seasons when He feels painfully silent. I don’t have neat answers for any of it. But perhaps continuing to ask the question is its own kind of faith. 

That universal uncertainty may be why Margaret’s question has continued to resonate with so many people 56 years after it was first published. Long after childhood, many of us are still quietly asking: are You there, God? It’s me.

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Nava Khorram Ahmad

Nava Khorram Ahmad is a daughter of the South Pacific now residing in Latvia with her husband. Nava works in climate change education as the Executive Director of Climate Education Centre, creating holistic and justice-oriented curriculum for youth. During her downtime, catch Nava sipping on a warm cup of tea, embracing stress-cleaning as a form of therapy, and writing music.