And so do you.
Think of a rainforest. You’re decked out in khaki and hiking boots and you sort of look like the dad from the Wild Thornberry’s, anyways, you think this is the way, and maybe it started out the right way, but then you got cocky and decided that you knew better than the map and started forging your own path. Now you’re trekking through mud, covered head to toe with sweat and exhaustion as bugs fleck against you with each step. The canopy of the rainforest is heavy overhead and you’re lost. You’re lost and it’s getting dark and you need help.
I’m in that spot right now. I got cocky. I thought the place with vibrant flowers and spiraling vines of beauty was worth the wrong turn, and now I’ve reached my limit. I have no idea where I am, or if I’m going the right way or if I’m going in circles or not–I may even have this map upside down. My fear has risen to the surface and I want out. These khakis are tattered and the appearance of an avid rainforest explorer I created has vanished.
Flip back to normal America. I’m sitting on my bed in my quiet apartment with my computer stacked on my lap and books sprawled across my bed. I’m reflecting on the day as I write out this blogpost and I can’t help but think I worship an awesome God. Awesome.
The past few weeks I’ve decided I would try life without God. Not intentionally, just slacked on communication and found myself trying to fix things on my own–forging my own path. Fast forward up to last Sunday as I wilted in a the arms of the small-framed woman who prayed over me during a church service. I had reached my limit and it came through the most powerful combination of vulnerability and focused worship inside of a church that I finally let God work in me. I had let God put down his foundation of stone, one that will not fail and I said ‘Great, now let me add to it.’ And I added layers of sand and began building upon my impossible foundation.
I want out of this place of deceptive beauty.
That Sunday the sand was washed away and all I had begun building washed out from under me and I fell into tears on a stranger’s shoulder.
Satan is perfect in beauty. He looks like God, he eases into our lives and tricks us when we’re not in communication with our Lord. I won’t hide it from you that I’m struggling with life in Asheville. It’s tough without my family and friends not next to me anymore. Life in Asheville is tough. It’s also incredibly great, but man, I am struggling with certain aspects of it. I’m calling for help. Well, now I’m screaming and I am so thankful for the push from others that encourages me to be honest with the God that is eagerly waiting on that vulnerability in me.
God knows we are messy. He understands we like to forge our own paths in stubbornness and out of ignorance and greed, but, man, He loves us regardless.
That doesn’t change.
He’s trudging through the mud and coming to get you, wiping you clean of all the filth you’ve gotten yourself into. He’s there with a cool cloth against your face wiping the dirt from our cheeks. I imagine Him looking upon my worn face as He delicately strokes the mud from my eyebrows, His eyes welling up with tears– tears that describe the immeasurable love He has for each of us. Tears that describe the tenderness He has towards you, and that describe the vision He has for our lives that is far better than anything we could think up on our own. He wants a life so much better then what we create for ourselves.
May we be moved by that. May we be moved to worship a God like that outside the confines of Sunday’s, and may we be moved so much by His radical love that we worship Him in our everyday.