It started with a small complaint.
A small complaint in a big parking lot with a heavy push-broom and puddles of gravel and dust.
It didn’t seem fair that He was invisible. They said that He was the most important of all, but He had the nerve to stay hidden behind mystery and space. How am I supposed to have a relationship with somebody who insists on remaining invisible?
I wasn’t pleased with this decision at all, and I told Him so as I pushed that heavy broom over empty parking spaces.
As complaints often do, they grew. With each pass of the broom across gravel and pavement, I muttered my displeasure under my breath.
People say that Christianity is supposed to the best relationship, but it didn’t feel like that at all and I was doing everything right. It wasn’t fair. I was praying every day, and the words I said were bouncing off the ceiling and falling to the floor unheard and worthless. Why would He command me to pray but then not show me the courtesy of listening?
I was doing all the work here and He wasn’t keeping His end of the deal. How was I supposed to be best friends with an invisible person who refused to speak?
Sure, He’d given us a Book. But that was all. An old Book full of old confusing words. And He told us to spend time with Him, but that just meant reading the old Book full of old words. And I was tired of it.
Who would want to be best friends with a Book?
They say that the Bible is a love letter.
If that’s true, it seems to me like a terrible love letter. After all, who writes a love letter and then includes a thousand pages of dietary laws and genealogical records and pronouncements of sudden devastation?
As I swept the parking lot that day, my swirling complaints grew heavy. I was tired.
Tired of pretending like the Bible wasn’t boring and prayer didn’t feel pointless.
Tired of trying so hard to love a God that felt so far away. Tired of trying to be best friends with a Book.
Methodically I pushed dust and gravel across empty parking spots, but inside I was angry. I told Him it wasn’t fair, that He wasn’t fair, and that I was done pretending.
What are you going to do about all that, huh?
Then it was like a whisper behind me, cutting through the dust and gravel:
“I have loved you with an everlasting love.”
I wasn’t impressed. Because of the ceiling and the book and the gravel and the dust.
So, what difference does that make?
Then the whisper again, a second time:
“With cords of lovingkindness I have drawn thee.”
But those were just words. Just words penned by the Creator of the Universe thousands of years ago and then whispered into my heart in the very moment I demanded an answer.
They say that the Bible has all the answers.
I’ve read it through a few times now, and I still have questions.
I let the questions sweep my faith to the edges of my heart. There I stood fuming that He refused to meet me on my terms, but I couldn’t hide from love.
He’s invisible, but He’s not far away. And when the tired words from the Book were whispered into my heart as if for the first time, He was there.
Grasping the Book in one hand and a push-broom in the other I find Him in the moments I expect Him least but need Him most.
[ image: GeoWombats ]