I was wide awake at 4:41 this morning. I begged my body to go back to sleep, but something was stirring. As I showered at got ready at 5:20, I realized how much I missed mornings. The quiet when the rest of the world is sleeping, the peace that comes when my heart is not yet throbbing with the heaviness of the day. When I began to ponder this peace and this strange stirring in my heart for the morning, I realized how much I miss Jesus too. I have been a whirlwind, a storm, and a hurricane. Glimpses of the sun have been rare, far and few between.
I have been trying to conquer the world, save the lives of everyone around me, deciphering the difference between boundaries and walls, navigating the anatomy of the human heart and just trying to make sense of the world. I don't know what it was supposed to be like, but I know it is not this.
The world has been so loud and His voice has been so quiet. My questions are bigger than ever before. Vulnerability has a way of cracking open anger and bitterness in a way I never thought possible. A tornado tangles my own memories with all the pain I have ever seen in the world. I have a hard time separating truth from lie. My questions have become demanding, rather than reflective. Why was my little friend in Nicaragua living in trash? Why did they tell me to not sit in the trash with her? Why did I come back to America after I gave my heart and soul to little children who didn't speak my language or know my Jesus again and again? Why did I feel the heart of God so fervently in India and I can no longer see him in my own country? Every damn time I pass a homeless person, I am infuriated at the system and how I play a part in it. Someone told me recently that the people I offer services to at my job steal money from my paycheck. How can their hearts be so cold to those who are less fortunate? How can God allow the oppression of suicidal spirits to plague our nation, let alone my close friends?
There was a time when I was okay with not having an answer for these questions. There was a time when a gentle man of God told me to set my questions on a shelf until Jesus himself came and tore down my shelf. But my shelf is full, my heart heavy from constantly carrying the questions. I know I join an army of Christians who carry these and can no longer accept the status quo. Church, what am I missing? This body I am a part of has been an organism, living and breathing for thousands of years, alive with the heart of God at its center since its beginning. I cannot turn my face because the evidence is so real. I cannot ignore the legacy of the Church, with all of its flaws and all of its beauty. But I do need to reconcile the way in which this Body has been a part of the pain of the world while still having Jesus at its center.
A friend encouraged me a few weeks ago and told me this: "Remember that the God you fell in love with is truly good, but is so different from what we've been taught. You'll realize this God we believe in cannot be contained that we have created for Him. It's so much more." I cling to this because I know that this Jesus that gave life to the dead, belonging to the forgotten, Family to the lonely, and changed my life from the inside out is still the same Jesus. Even though doubt pulses like blood through my veins, it is for those children who do not speak my language in other countries that keeps my faith alive. It is for all of these people that ignites my smoldering wick. It is how the heart of God still pulses through my veins just like the doubt. And this is what keeps me holding on.
I have been trying to conquer the world, save the lives of everyone around me, deciphering the difference between boundaries and walls, navigating the anatomy of the human heart and just trying to make sense of the world. I don't know what it was supposed to be like, but I know it is not this.
The world has been so loud and His voice has been so quiet. My questions are bigger than ever before. Vulnerability has a way of cracking open anger and bitterness in a way I never thought possible. A tornado tangles my own memories with all the pain I have ever seen in the world. I have a hard time separating truth from lie. My questions have become demanding, rather than reflective. Why was my little friend in Nicaragua living in trash? Why did they tell me to not sit in the trash with her? Why did I come back to America after I gave my heart and soul to little children who didn't speak my language or know my Jesus again and again? Why did I feel the heart of God so fervently in India and I can no longer see him in my own country? Every damn time I pass a homeless person, I am infuriated at the system and how I play a part in it. Someone told me recently that the people I offer services to at my job steal money from my paycheck. How can their hearts be so cold to those who are less fortunate? How can God allow the oppression of suicidal spirits to plague our nation, let alone my close friends?
There was a time when I was okay with not having an answer for these questions. There was a time when a gentle man of God told me to set my questions on a shelf until Jesus himself came and tore down my shelf. But my shelf is full, my heart heavy from constantly carrying the questions. I know I join an army of Christians who carry these and can no longer accept the status quo. Church, what am I missing? This body I am a part of has been an organism, living and breathing for thousands of years, alive with the heart of God at its center since its beginning. I cannot turn my face because the evidence is so real. I cannot ignore the legacy of the Church, with all of its flaws and all of its beauty. But I do need to reconcile the way in which this Body has been a part of the pain of the world while still having Jesus at its center.
A friend encouraged me a few weeks ago and told me this: "Remember that the God you fell in love with is truly good, but is so different from what we've been taught. You'll realize this God we believe in cannot be contained that we have created for Him. It's so much more." I cling to this because I know that this Jesus that gave life to the dead, belonging to the forgotten, Family to the lonely, and changed my life from the inside out is still the same Jesus. Even though doubt pulses like blood through my veins, it is for those children who do not speak my language in other countries that keeps my faith alive. It is for all of these people that ignites my smoldering wick. It is how the heart of God still pulses through my veins just like the doubt. And this is what keeps me holding on.
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