Eat. Pray. Love.

The book, Eat, Pray, Love is a memoir written by Elizabeth Gilbert. It is the story of a woman's spiritual journey after a painful divorce.

It starts off with the author writing how unhappy and depressed she was in her marriage, to the point of spending nights sleeping on her bathroom floor. There is one part of the book that I really like, at the very beginning. For her, I think, that is where it all began.

Here is an excerpt: (No Copyright infringement intended)

     Of course, I've had a lot of time to formulate my opinions about divinity since that night on the bathroom floor when I first spoke directly to God. In the middle of that dark November crisis, though, I was not interested in formulating views on theology. I was interested only in saving my life. I had finally noticed that I'd reached a state of hopelessness and life-threatening despair, and it occurred to me that sometimes people in this state will approach God for help. I think I'd read that in a book somewhere.

What I said to God through my gasping sobs was something like this: "Hello, God; how are you? I'm Liz. It's nice to meet you."

That's right—I was speaking to the creator of the universe as though we'd just been introduced at a cocktail party. But these are the words I always use at the beginning of a relationship. In fact, it was all I could do to stop myself from saying, "I've always been a big fan of your work..."

"I'm sorry to bother you so late at night," I continued. "But I'm in serious trouble. And I'm sorry I haven't ever spoken directly to you before, but I hope I have always expressed ample gratitude for all the blessings you've given me in my life."

This thought caused me to sob even harder. God waited me out. I pulled myself together enough to go on: "I'm not an expert at praying, as you know. But I am in desperate need of help. I don't know what to do. I need an answer. Please tell me what to do. Please tell me what to do. Please tell me what to do..."

And so the prayer narrowed itself down to that simple entreaty— Please tell me what to do, repeated again and again. I don't know how many times I begged. I only know that I begged like someone who was pleading for her life. And the crying went on forever.

Until—quite abruptly—it stopped.

Quite abruptly, I found that I was not crying anymore. I'd stopped crying, in fact, in mid-sob. My misery had been completely vacuumed out of me. I lifted my forehead off the floor and sat up in surprise, wondering if I would now see some Great Being who had taken my weeping away. But nobody was there. I was just alone. But not really alone, either. I was surrounded by something I can only describe as a little pocket of silence—a silence so rare that I didn't want to exhale, for fear of scaring it off. I was seamlessly still. I don't know when I'd ever felt such stillness.

Then I heard a voice. Please don't be alarmed—it was not an Old Testament Hollywood Charlton Heston voice, nor was it a voice telling me I must build a baseball field in my backyard. It was merely my own voice, speaking from within my own self. But this was my voice as I'd never heard it before. This was my voice, but perfectly wise, calm, and compassionate. This was what my voice would sound like if I'd only ever experienced love and certainty in my life. How can I describe the affection in that voice, as it gave me the answer that would forever seal my faith in the divine?

The voice said: Go back to bed, Liz.

I exhaled.

It was so immediately clear this was the only thing to do. I wouldn't have accepted any other answer. I wouldn't have trusted a great booming voice that said either: You Must Divorce Your Husband! or You Must Not Divorce Your Husband! Because that's not true wisdom. True wisdom gives the only possible answer at any given moment, and, that night, going back to bed was the only possible answer. Go back to bed, said this omniscient interior voice, because you don't need to know the final answer right now, at 3 o'clock in the morning on a Thursday in November. Go back to bed, because I love you. Go back to bed, because the only thing you need to do for now is rest and take good care of yourself until you do know the answer. Go back to bed, so that, when the tempest comes, you'll be strong enough to deal with it. And the tempest is coming, dear one. Very soon. But not tonight. Therefore:

Go back to bed, Liz.

We know that there are many stages in life. There is:

"A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break, and a time to build;
A time to cry, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
 A time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to discard; 
A time to tear, and a time to sew; a time to be silent, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace."

 And sometimes, there is another time. A time to simply, go to sleep. You can't solve all your problems in one night. So put them aside. Do what is physically and emotionally best for you. Go to sleep.

And trust in Hashem that He will help you make the right decisions, to start you on your own journey.