Lord, I know you know where I am right now.
I know you understand what this is. I know you have a plan. But just so we’re clear—I’m not there. I hate being in the dark. I hate the inconsistencies in my life. And I do know many of those inconsistencies reflect my relationship with you. But why don’t you just tell me what we are doing, or show me where we are going? Is it not easier for you to show yourself? Isn’t it easier to not rely so much on my FAITH to believe? I know, I know… to my rational mind it makes more practical sense to be alive, in the natural, to walk on earth as Christ did so I can hear, smell, see, feel who you are.
Sure, God on Earth would be easier. But would I believe you more? If I saw you, or knew someone who knew you, or heard about your travels in the westernmost parts of Asia on CNN each day would I suddenly be a more faithful believer?
The Bible talks about people who walked the earth the same time Christ did and they still didn’t believe that he was the son of God. Would I be any different if you were here today? I have the story from beginning to end (in black and white) and I still struggle with my acceptance. I struggle with resting in the process. I struggle with “not knowing where we are in the process”.
Whenever I have moments like these I always think of Thomas. I always wonder how embarrassed and ashamed he must have felt for Christ to have to show him his hands. When I read that scripture I personally feel sorry for Thomas. I’m always thinking: Dude, why does Christ have to show you? Why can’t you just trust who he is?
And it checks my own level of faith. It’s a check-mate to my own lack of trust in Him.
I look at my own wrists. How small and delicate they seem. So average and common to my perspective (and it’s mainly b/c I look at my wrists and hands every day). They just look basic, simple— and unimpressive.
And I think of a man. I think of Jesus. Who also had average wrists. Who wasn’t exceptionally tall. He didn’t look different from anyone else. He was raised in a 2-parent home with siblings just like me. He liked to draw, was very inquisitive, and I imagine he had a lot to say as a child; probably asked 1000 questions. But his wrists and hands were just like mine. They pumped life’s blood, just like mine.
And when I cry sometimes. when I feel like I missed something along the way in my walk with God, I think about the wrists of Christ. I feel so ashamed at having to imagine what Thomas must as felt as Christ lifted up his own hands to show him the proof.
I mean, how does Thomas come back from embarrassing encounter? How does anyone?
Earlier tonight I was fussing with you about not revealing my next step. I’m sure you know how frustrated and angry I can be when I don’ t have any idea of what to do next. (Stagnation and holding patterns are almost as worse as regressions, but let me stop while I’m ahead. I know you’ll validate that theory to me too if I keep on.) But as I sit here and think about your character. I know no matter how much I beg (and whine) you aren’t going to cheat. You aren’t going to reveal anything until you think I’m ready.
These are the moments that I cry. The moments that you let me lay here, wallow in my own pity, you let me recap my life’s events (in my own limited capacity), make whatever assessments I think are right, and then you help me dry my tears. Get a grip, Krystal, you admonish. This isn’t about you, the spirit whispers.
You help me remember that this life isn’t about what I am doing along the way, but more importantly about WHY I am doing what I’m doing along the way. And regardless of how I may feel about the plans, or how long they are taking, I have to realize that they aren’t MY plans. This was never about me. Yes God, I know you want me to be involved. Yes, I know you desire my love and commitment in return because you’ve already proven your love to me.
The hands of Christ prove your love to me. Now we just gotta get out of the habit of you having to show me those hands every time I get beside myself.
I got it Lord.
Well, I’m getting it…..