Where Are You, Lord?

    I find, more often than not, I am inept-at best-in my endeavors to trust in the Lord. Truthfully, I feel as though I stumble my way through life, hoping that at some point things come together. Sometimes this looks like becoming an obligation monster and committing myself to being as busy as possible, so that somehow I am deemed worthy of Him. Other times, this looks like trying to figure out what it is to experience holy rest. Neither of these options leaves me satisfied when I am left to my own devices. The harsh reality of my humanity eventually meets me, more like hits me, right in the middle of a pivotal moment. After these reminders of my mortality, and his divinity, I am typically left mouth agape with uncertainty about where to go next. That feels cyclical to me. A constant circulation from "I've got this," to "I really don't have anything handled," to "Wow, I really am human," onto "Oh, right Lord. You're always there for me, abiding in my heart and in the atmosphere where I seem to forget you at times," and finally back around again. It's a vicious cycle, I must say. So many of those steps are unnecessarily painstaking and tedious, yet for some reason I still choose to place God in a box, and say, "I've got this," when I really, truly, most definitely do not have a hold on anything. 

    There's been this reoccurring idea of peace that has embedded its way into my heart and mind this year. Not so much like an ocean wave, crashing and enveloping me. An initial exposure to this idea, with miniature ripple effects is more what I would liken it to. Occasionally, there is no explanation to the disjointedness I feel at times. It's like a loose cannon that I am not always in control of. However, the reality that I am faced with is that even when I feel completely jangled up inside, ready to explode, He is still there.

    Again, I come back to the vicious cycle of thinking I can handle life on my own, forgetting that the God of the universe is present and willing to be my steadfast Redeemer. Yet, I still try to do things in my own strength. This leads to my disjointed, angst-laden attitude that becomes bitter towards the Father, saying things like, "Where are you, huh?" Except what I often forget to remember is that the God of the world knows my name and writes my story. He cares about me to even the minute details. 

    My biggest difficulty in really allowing people into my life is that I feel sometimes as though I get too invested too fast and it's not always reciprocated. This is not true of any sort of romantic endeavors, but more relationships in general. We live in a society that is conditioned for grand gesture and drama, yet sometimes that's not what love is. Sure, grand gestures and excitement are fun and wild and thrilling. But sometimes, when you're grumpy and feeling distant from the Lord on a weekday afternoon, you make your way to the mailbox and find newly sprung up pink lilies, and it feels exactly like they were fashioned just for you, just because He knows that lilies are your favorite. He is also acutely aware that grand, dramatic gestures do nothing for you. It's the showing up in the mundane and the everyday. It's the steadiness that you so desperately seek after. And it is precisely there that I am reminded of His never ending, always faithful, ever present love that doesn't cease to amaze me. The God of the Universe could have just sent his Son to die for me and told me to wait in hopeful anticipation of the end of this life, without connection to Him. That's not the God who loves me, though. The God who loves me shows up in small, but meaningful ways, because it's the steadfast devotion that conquers all of my fears, all of my disjointedness, and every ounce of pride within me. It's the process by which He forms a new heart within me. The one where I am reminded that God is good, holy, infinitely powerful, and incredibly interested in relationship with His children.

             

                                                                        With love,

                                                                           Kelsey