How did we get here?

“Isn’t God just soooo good!?”

 

I grit my teeth into a smile as I answer, “Yeah, absolutely.”

 

“God is just so great like that.”

 

I smile again (my trademark) as I say goodbye and practically sprint to my car. I slide in, shut my door, and grip the steering wheel tightly as I lay my forehead against the cold rubber.

 

Then I grit my teeth and ask myself for the millionth time, how did we get here?


Where we think more about how others view our relationship with God, than what our real relationship with Him is actually like.

 

Where all we can do is talk about how good God is, but we avoid the vulnerability of admitting when life doesn’t feel that way.

 

Where we cover ourselves in Bible verses and know the “Christian” answers to life, but when it comes to recognizing His touch, we are empty.

 

Where we can argue apologetics and theology about His existence for hours on end, but we don’t have one example from our lives to show His presence.

 

Where we want to hide behind Him, instead of doing the work for ourselves to become all that He yearns for us to be.

 

Where we are cowardly and shallow, instead of having all the depth and beauty that God intended for us to have.

 

From all that I’ve learned in the last few months, one message has stuck out vividly to me, like it was highlighted:

 

God never intended for us to hide behind Him.


For some reason, we believe that all we have to do is “listen for His voice” and “prepare the way for Him to work”. And sometimes those things are true. But in my life, He has worked in others a lot less, and has challenged me to work a lot more. He promised to walk beside me, but He never promised to do the work for me.

 

We layer our conversations with “God is so good”, and “I just want God’s plan for me”, but when that’s all you say, what does that really mean? It’s what I call “word fluff”. I yearn for honesty, depth, and real meaning in the conversations I have.

 

I challenge and question more now, and honestly I’ve made at least a few people a little uncomfortable. I see that as a compliment rather than an insult: I’m tired of making this mentality okay for people. I’m tired of making it okay for me. I want more for myself, for them.

 

I want her to look me in the eye and tell me how her mother used to beat her, and even though she doesn’t anymore, she still looks in the mirror and sees the scars.

 

I want him to tell his friend how he’s fighting the porn, but every once in a while he still loses.

 

I want her to pull up her sleeves and show him the cuts on her wrists. I want him to tell her how his father looked him in the eye and told him he could never be good enough.

 

The stories already exist, but the people must be created.

 

Who are they?

 

Could you be one of them?

 

Maybe the next time someone is puking out spiritual B.S., you could look them in the eye and say “that’s all great, but sometimes life is just really hard.” Or maybe the next time someone says “I just want God’s plan for me”, you could say “that’s great, but what do you want for your life?” I promise you, they may squirm. Pain makes people uncomfortable.

 

But oh, my dear friend, I can’t even describe the treasure you will uncover.

 

When we seek, we will find.

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