Just Wandering About Life

“They are so thirsty,”  He said.  

With my eyes clenched shut, I was taken to a desert…Dust flying, sun scorching– an endless stretch of barren ground.  People were everywhere; they were digging with shovels and bare hands.  They were looking for water.

As I stood there watching this scene, I felt a tap on my shoulder.  I turned around to see Him.  He had a giant bucket in one hand, a ladle in the other, and a smile on his face.  I held a cup; it was dry as a bone.  I offered it to Him, and He filled it full of water.  He filled it so full, it started to spill out the top.  I drank every last drop.   It tasted so cool and sweet.  Never had anything satisfied more.

Suddenly, I saw Him fix His eyes on something behind me.  I turned to follow His gaze and saw a person on the ground.  She was on her knees, surrounded by mounds of earth, clawing at the ground.  She was dripping in sweat and coated in a thick layer of dust.

I knew what He wanted me to do.  I held up my emptied cup once again, and He filled it.  “I promise I won’t spill it,” I said.  I cautiously stepped my way over to her. I held out my cup; she hesitated at first, looking around at her piles of dirt.  She had been digging for a while.  She timidly took the cup in her cracked and bloodied hands.  She drank it dry.  Total satisfaction and joy spread across her face.

I ran back to Him.  She drank it! I held up my cup once again, and He filled it to the brim.  I found another digger, offered the water, and they drank it!  When I turned around, I saw others running to Him, holding out their own cups!  Swarms of us were dashing around with cups full of water, giving them to any that would drink.  Adrenaline was shooting through my veins, and water was spilling out everywhere!

I found another person on the ground.  With pure, child-like excitement, I offered them the cup of cool, sweet water. They took it, looked inside, and dumped it on the ground right in front of me.  My mouth gapped open.  They kept on digging.  “I’ll find my own water,” they said.  I couldn’t believe it. Why would they keep digging when I found the source of water?

I ran back to Him again, He filled it, and I ran back to them.  Again, they poured it out at my feet.  I looked down at my feet and saw the precious water forming sticky, black mud.

The Father gave me this vision several days ago, and it shifted something inside me.  All I have to offer Him is my emptiness.  I cannot love others, serve others, or speak life into others without His pour.  I can do nothing apart from Him.  He is Living Water that is guaranteed to satisfy.   I wish that all would receive His sweet gift, but many will reject it.  Those who take and drink, however, will never go thirsty again.  That is His Promise.  

Keep running back to Him with your empty cup, friends; let Him fill it to the brim.  Our world is so desperately thirsty. 

“…let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.” (Hebrews 12:1-2)

When we choose Jesus, we choose to run the kind of race that makes the Iron Man look like a walk in the park.  We tie up our sneakers, blast “Eye of the Tiger,” and start running… but we literally have no idea what sort of race we are about to run.

As we begin this mega-marathon, we quickly discover that it requires more than we can offer. We feel immediate exhaustion.  We can’t shake the feeling that we are lagging behind.  We encounter unexpected and completely devastating losses.  We watch as other runners stop and walk off the track.  At some points, we look around and feel completely alone.  Our legs shaking and our hearts pounding, we stop.

This faith race is wearing us down already.  Condemnation haunts us.  Anxiety and fear weaken us.  Disappointments and failures drain us. Confusion blinds us.  Humility knocks us down.  Hopelessness hangs like a weight around our necks.  This marathon forces us to give everything we’ve got, and we are tired of giving.  Just tired.  As we stand there, sweat dripping down our necks, we start to ask the make-or-break question: “Is is worth it?”

Suddenly, we look to the sidelines and see saints upon saints calling out to us, spurring us on.  We turn and see hundreds of weary runners clinging to each other, trudging, limping, dragging onward.  Others are screaming out in an adrenaline rage that lurches them to the front lines.  Anguish is carved into their faces, but they grit their teeth and keep moving.

As we watch the citizens of heaven march forward, there is a sound in the distance that gets louder.  Amidst the breath of broken and wearied runners, we can hear the sweet call of our King: “You can do it.  You’re gonna make it.  I’m here!  Just a little while longer!” 

Endurance, friends.  That’s what it’s all about.  We fight to finish the race set before us.  The Father is the voice that moves us, the Son is the finisher that saves us, and the Spirit is the fire in our veins that drives us.  When we do finish, we won’t look pretty; this race will cost us everything, because it cost Him everything…but it will be worth it.

I know I’m young.  I’ve barely covered the first lap, but sometimes I feel like I can’t go on.  This faith journey is one of questions, confusion, difficulty, persecution, and suffering beyond what I thought possible.  So don’t patronize me or look down on me.  Help me, encourage me, lift me to my feet.  I can’t make it alone, and you can’t either.  We need each other.  We need to remind each other that the One who ran the race before us is waiting.  More than anything, He longs for us to cross the finish line and collapse into His arms.  And boy, will we collapse.

I often wonder at the Father’s words: “Well done, good and faithful servant.”  At the end of this race, when I stand before him sweating, dirty, aching, and spent…will he really look at my shabby, slow-paced, unimpressive marathon and call me faithful?  I hope so.  God, I hope so.

We all share a desire to belong.  I’m not sure if we are born with it, conditioned to want it, or discover the importance of it when it is absent.  All I know is that if we don’t feel like we belong, life becomes meaningless, confusing, and dismal.

Don’t let those silly hipster, non-conformist, millennial yippies fool you.  They want to belong just as much as you and I.  In fact, “acceptance” has become their mantra.  Why?  Because they know that being accepted into a community or movement is essential.  Abraham Maslow created our five hierarchy of needs: 1) psychological 2) safety 3) belonging 4) esteem 5) self-actualization.  Belonging is the unassuming middle kid here.  Now, I’m no psychologist, so I can’t speak too much into this, but I would argue that above becoming “self-actualized,” we desire to belong.  If we felt like we belonged, we would perhaps disregard the necessity of all the other hierarchal needs.  Just a friendly thought.

You all know the spiritual lesson is coming, so I won’t delay.

Last night, I spent some time in His Presence.  Solid time spent, but I must be honest, time with Him has been a struggle lately.  I’ve just felt insecure.  I’ve been uncertain as to what my identity in Christ actually looks like.  In this era of “self-discovery,” He calls me to “Christ-discovery,” and while that’s all well and good, I wonder how my individuality marries the community God-head, forming one identity?

Muddling thoughts. Questions beget questions. Spirals into deeper confusion.

So I sat there in some necessary quiet, and I listened.  There in silence, The Father spoke simply, profoundly, and pointedly:

You belong. 

“What does that have to do with identity?” I wondered.  After sitting on it for a sec, it hit me.  Then I grinned from ear to ear.

Listen, if we understand that we belong to him, then every part of our identity in Christ begins to fall into place.  Our “self-actualization” or “self-discovery” simply doesn’t compare with the knowledge that we belong to a Creator.  In this beautiful belonging, we weave our desires, our behaviors, our minds, and our hearts to His.  We belong to Him and with Him.  Our human need to be accepted has been met completely by Him!

What’s interesting about the word “belong” is that it has two meanings (shoutout to Webster for providing both the insightful definitions):

to belong: (v) to be property of, (v) to be a part of 

Come on, guys!

By nature of our created existed, we are property of the Most High.  We bear His image upon our broken bodies.  We breathe in and breathe out His designed breath.  We laugh, cry, scream, and whisper with a voice He patented.  We are His very own copyright.

Not only are we copyrighted by our loving Father, but we are a part of His community!  We are a part of the community of heaven.  We belong to a body of believers.  We join with the angels, screaming around the throne of God, “Holy, Holy, Holy!” WOWZER.  He has accepted us into His family.

Understanding and embracing our identity in Christ is a process, I won’t argue that.  But coming into the knowledge that we belong to our Creator and have been accepted by Him is a great start.  We can rest in this.

I prayed a pretty dangerous prayer recently, y’all.  I prayed it compulsively, and I hardly recognized the serious nature of it.  The last part went a little something like this:

“Father, I’m not curious enough.  Help me to start asking more questions.”

You see, I knew that the majority of my life had existed in the safety of accepting things I never bothered to question. By nature, I am a lover of harmony.  I completely avoid anything that threatens my peace of mind, and because of this, I have accepted the non-answers to so many honest and hard questions about life and faith.  I came to the conclusion that it’s okay to not know, so there’s no sense in exhausting myself for an answer.

This request for curiosity, therefore, came out of a desire to grow spiritually.  Accepting everything because I didn’t want to tackle hard questions does not equip a spiritual warrior well, and I was highly aware of that.

As questions simmered in my brain, my cocksure spirit was at a sudden standstill.  I started to panic as one question opened up the floodgate to a thousand, and I couldn’t control them.  Intrusive and offensive questions started breaching the secure wall I had built around my faith.  Questions I had never even considered asking were haunting my head daily.

Where is God?  What if everything I’ve ever thought was wrong?  What if God isn’t who He says He is?  How can He seriously love me?  What is truth? How can we know truth if there are so many interpretations of His Word? What if someone I love dies…will I still love Him?

So there I was, living in the tangled mess of curiosity unleashed.

Curiosity wasn’t what I thought it was going to be—it required me to loosen my grip on familiar, traditional thought patterns.  Releasing my passivity, loosening my hold of the comfortable, and asking gritty questions sounded like a total surrender of my mind, and that was terrifying.

So I freaked out when I thought about the total surrender this would require of me; to be honest, I ran away.  Instead of embracing the surrender like a friend, I retreated from it into spiritual lethargy.  That’s my coping method. When the challenges present me no easy solution, I stick my fingers in my ears (metaphorically speaking) and tune out.  Not proud to admit that about myself.  However, thanks to saintly friends and the Holy Spirit, I was set into motion not long after the cowardly retreat.  Praise Him for that.

After coming out of my lethargic stupor, you know what I realized? It’s hilarious actually.

I asked all the questions without really looking for answers.

LOL. WHAT’S EVEN THE POINT OF ASKING?

Exactly.  I learned that the pain of questioning could have been alleviated had I only sought the Word, friends, THE HOLY FREAKING SPIRIT, or other reliable sources for answers.  Questioning without seeking an answer is like jumping out of a plane without a parachute.  Terrifying and deadly.  To be fair, we may not get the answers in our time frame, or even in this lifetime, but the power is in the seeking.

Moral of the story? (Thank God she’s finally coming to it)

To lay down any of our own conclusions (or lack thereof) and allow the Spirit to work through the wonderment is a deep challenge for any of us.  It’s so easy to not wonder, you know? Wondering is like digging a well.  You have to break up the earth of your being, root out the lies and stubborn assumptions that have lingered in your mind, and perhaps endure the pain that questioning begins to draw out of your soul.  Once you dig that well though, there is LIVING WATER ready to spring up.

It’s worth the toil, friends.  I believe that fully. If we dig deep, it will hurt our pride and certainties, but truth is buried there.  Ask the hard questions when He calls you to them. I’m still learning how to ask and seek, but I’m realizing that the more questions I ask, the closer I cling to Him for answers, and that’s the most beautiful thing that can come from all of it.  He wants us to be with Him, to trust Him, and to desire truth from His lips.  Curiosity may kill a cat, but it breathes life into our spirits, strengthens our walk, and inches us closer to knowing Him!

A few nights ago, I watched an interview between the late show host, Stephen Colbert and the actor, Andrew Garfield.  In this interview, Colbert was asking Garfield about the movie Silence, in which Garfield plays a Jesuit missionary who travels to Japan.  In preparation for his role, Garfield spent a period of time living and training with a Jesuit monk.  He spent his time praying, mediating, fasting, and learning the art of silence.   During the interview with Colbert, Garfield voiced his admiration for the life and transformative power of spirituality and, specifically, Jesus.

I was intrigued and zealous that Garfield’s experience with Jesus was so positive and encouraged to hear that he appeared genuinely effected; I was troubled, however, when Colbert asked him if he believed in the supernatural, and this was his response:

“Certainty about anything is the most terrifying.”

My heart sank.

Certainty is terrifying?

This led to an all-night “toss ‘n turn.”

It was the kind of night where my brain imploded and exploded with confusion… the kind of night in which Garfield’s statement pounded against me so ferociously that all I could do was lay there, wide-eyed, and take the beating.  No matter if I was flat on my back, curled up in the fetal position, or belly-pressed against a mountain of pillows, this question crept into every crevice of my mind:

Why is the world terrified of the one thing it needs the most?

Certainty, by definition, is the conviction that something is definitely true.  In a culture saturated by sensitivity, one thing has been horrifically distorted, and that is the nature of truth.  Truth, in its essence, is unwavering.  It is solid. It is matter-of-fact.  Truth cannot change.  The way we perceive truth may in fact change, but the actual, tangible truth itself does not.  New facts and perceptions only lend themselves to a closer realization of the truth which has never changed.

I’ll try to avoid sounding too philosophical—my brain bleeds when I try.

So if truth is concrete, unwavering, and certain, why do people claim that it is malleable based upon experience and choice? Why have variations of truth sprung up from the minds of many and taken on an entirely different shape?  Why do people take comfort in formulating their own version of truth?

The world has spent thousands of years trying to convince everyone that it can produce a truth that does not offend anyone.  It finds comfort in the “uncertain” because it can’t conclude a “certain” which would include everyone’s ideas. Uncertainty becomes a security blanket.  At least no one’s feelings or belief systems are shot down, right?  There, clinging to our strange existence, we little humans are all delighting in our own comfortable truths, no matter how absurd they might be; if everything is relative, then nothing is absolute, and apparently that is okay.

Is it okay? Do we honestly risk our eternity upon our acceptance of uncertainty?

Suppose there was one thing?  Suppose there was one, sure, certain thing into which we could anchor ourselves?  Suppose that one, certain thing was Jesus?

To say that Jesus is certain would create a stream of cause and effect:  if Jesus is certain, then every other belief system in the world is uncertain; if Jesus is absolute, then everything else in the world is relative; if Jesus is truth, then every other religious system in the world is false; if Jesus is God, then every other deistic claim is man-made.  If Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, then no man can obtain eternal life without Him. If Jesus is the “Word made flesh,” then the Word is alive today.

My heart aches for the world.  It claims sight, never having seen a thing.  It claims clarity, living it’s entire life in a dense fog.  It claims that uncertainty is certain, never having met the One who has saved us from certain death.  Instead of allowing the world to continue fearing and rejecting certainty, let us boldly, in love, speak what is true:  Christ died for all.  He rose again.  He loves us fiercely.  And no matter what we say or do, nothing will change that.

“For Christ’s love compels us, because we are convinced that One died for all, therefore all died.  And He died for all that those who live should no longer live for themselves, but for Him who died for them and was raised again.” 2 Corinthians 5:14,15.

I would say this to Mr. Garfield:  Certainty in Jesus is the most beautiful thing; in fact, it is the only thing.