Out of Hiding

I was not going to write this post. After I wrote it, I was not going to post it. I had a million different excuses. It was too personal. It wasn't too encouraging. It wasn't very coherent. But then I reminded myself of all the times I've read stories of people experiencing similar things and how much they helped me. My words aren't very useful, but sometimes the only thing that eases the pain is knowing that someone else knows it, too. So here goes.

I wish I weren't so messy. I wish I weren't so easily rocked. I wish I didn't so often grieve the heart of my God. 

I wish that when faced with tragedy I could have responded rightly and turned straight to Him, but I didn't. I shut down for a while. Then I got confused. Then I began to question Him, just ever so slightly, not even seeing where I was headed. 

He even gave me a check to give me the chance to see what was happening. The day after I began questioning Him I stood in a field, the wind loud in my ears and His voice pressing on my heart. "Are you sure you want that? Are you sure you want to question me?" I told Him no, I didn't want to run.

Before I knew it, however, I was yelling at Him, accusing Him of not being good, of not really caring, of not being Sovereign and, if He was, of being cruel. I searched theology, turning to more knowledge when I needed more faith. I thought if I proved to myself intellectually who He was that I would believe again. There's a place for knowledge, but not as a weapon against a holy God. 

As I began to despair, to feel like I would never find my way again, He asked me one of His ever-probing questions. 

"Do you really think I don't care? Look at the Israelites. Don't you think it broke my heart when they turned from me? Look at Adam and Eve. Don't you think I was grieved to have to send my precious, hand-crafted children away? Don't you think my heart is broken that there are so many people dying without me? Didn't I say that I didn't want any to be lost?" 

I thought about it. I fought a little longer. How could He want none to be lost, and yet so many are? Can't He do as He pleases? 

After much back-and-forth, I came no closer to an answer than before. 

(I've since found this wonderful article by John Piper (click here) resolving this conflict, but that's not what this post is about. Besides, he's much better than me at explaining things.) 

See, I was searching for answers. I wanted a response. Logic. Reasoning. A miracle, even. 

And instead, the only answer offered was Himself. 

I had looked everywhere and in everything, and, like Solomon discovered, it was all like chasing the wind. You would think at this point I would get the message and give up the fight and come running to Him. I didn't. I thought maybe He would work like He had before and bust, loud and proud, thorough all my defenses. He didn't.  

Instead, He knelt down in the midst of my mess, while I was still in the storm, and He loved me. 

No, "Who are you to answer me?" or "Why on earth did you think you didn't need me?" although those are things He's said to me before. See, He knew I wasn't interested in accusations. My defenses were up, I was ready to fight, and the only way to break through was to hold me close when I was pushing away. 

See, God is a good dad. Corrie ten Boom gave some excellent examples of things her father taught her about good dads in her book. In one chapter, she remembers how when she didn't want to start school, the only thing that changed her mind was her dad taking her hand and walking her there. She remembers all the good things that happened when he held her hand- they went to the park, or for a walk. Maybe, even though she was going somewhere she didn't want to be, maybe this would be okay. 

Another example was on a train. She asks a very grown-up question for a little girl, and as a lesson he asks if she can carry the luggage off the train. When she tries and it doesn't budge, he tells her that she can trust him to carry it for her until she's strong enough to bear it. 

God is not holding out on me. He's not out to get me. He is shielding my eyes from things not fit for me, not blocking my view.  

As days passed, nothing extraordinary happened. No big revelations, no swift change, just time moving as it always had. I found myself asking when I would see Him again like I had before. Sure, I know He's here in these days, I've even felt Him here, but I haven't seen His beauty like I have in the past. All the things I've been learning as I've been seeking Him have been simple things, just retaught. Sometimes the most frustrating thing about life is how anticlimactic it can be. 

However, as I look through the things I've been learning (I journal nonstop so that I can stay sane. But that's a story for another day), I'm finding a couple of threads tying together all these seemingly simple things. 

I was at a friend's church the other day when the pastor shared a truth that, if I'm honest, I either didn't know or ignored. God hates certain things. This news is probably old hat to most Christians, but I for one had written it off as less than important. God is love, right? So if He hates things that's fine and dandy, but I'll just focus on this "love" part. It's prettier and more applicable, right? 

News flash: I'm wrong. A lot. 

Our job as followers of Christ is to be like Christ. We all agree on that. Christ is God, so we are to be like God. Most of that is aligning our heart and will with His. SO shouldn't we love what He loves and hate what He hates? 

"But we're Christians! We're not supposed to hate anyone!" Right. He says to love one another. 

"God is love! How can He hate?" Yes, God is love. He is perfect love. So, He hates things that hurt His perfect love. 

Sin hurts love. Rebellion hurts love. Not knowing Him, lostness, hurts love. Dishonoring His name hurts love. It puts space between you and the love of God when you do things that go against His love. 

If we, if I, took this to heart, it could change everything. If we hated lostness as much as He does, we would be tripping over each other trying to get to our friends, the rest of the country, the nations. I am incredibly guilty of indifference towards those who haven't heard, so I can say these strong things because they're things that I say to myself. 

In the Gospels we see Jesus flipping tables in the temple, and we normally dust that story with a Sunday School answer and move on, but if you dig into it, there's so much more there. Friends, we as believers are the temple now. If Jesus was that passionate about getting things out of the temple that weren't meant to be there, can't we conclude that He's passionately dedicated to getting sin out of our hearts? 

Since He hates sin, He will do whatever it takes to get what He hates out of His house; that house is us.

As I was running through these new truths, I came across two words: "Jesus wept." 

He wept over Lazarus. He wept over Jerusalem. This powerful God of both love and hate is crying. Why?

"Do you really think I don't care?"

Jesus has felt our emotions. Walked our earth. Breathed our air. Is it too far to think that His heart breaks like ours, too? 

Piper says that God has a narrow-lens will and a wide-lens, which enables Him to look at a specific moment in time and be grieved or angry, but still see the bigger picture of His plan. It's like when we do things we don't want to do because in the long run it's best if we do them. It's ripping the bandaid, pulling the tooth with the cavity, ending a relationship destined for disaster. In short, it hurts. 

We shake our fists at God and ask Him how He can let that person hurt or this person die or this situation end badly. But me? I never stopped to consider that maybe His heart is just as broken as mine over loss. Maybe it pains Him to see me hurt. 

Maybe He still hurts with me even though He knows how it works out. 

A grieving God is never what I expected to find. but maybe it's exactly what I need. 

A righteous, just God is necessary. But if He is only that, without compassion, we're out of luck. Thankfully, we look no farther than the Cross to see that yes, He cares. 

He cares. He sees how difficult your life is. He knows that your heart is so broken that it feels like it will never heal. He knows that you can't seem to catch a break. He sees that you're painfully lonely. 

And He cares so much that His heart is broken with yours, even as His hand is working to restore you. 

"For we do not have a High Priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses," it says in Hebrews. Jesus wasn't putting on an act when He wept over Lazarus. He knew he wouldn't be dead long. But, looking into Mary and Martha's faces, He saw the pain. He felt their heartache and He wept for their grief. 

If He sees, knows, and feels every inch of our messy hearts, we don't have to hide. He knows us fully and loves us completely. Jesus doesn't want your mask. He is not content for an "I'm fine" because He knows you aren't. 

He will hold you close until He brings you home- and that is a promise.