The reality of it all

Circumstances are not
        out of control after all,
just out of my control.
Only in His.

... for God is
          at work in you.

          Philippians 2. 13

I had no idea where I was going

I headed out for an early run last weekend, as the forecast promised another day of August heat at the end of September.  I parked my car in its usual spot with every intention of doing my Saturday routine run along the river.  I started my run along the road, heading to a meandering asphalt path with a view of the lazy river.

But as I approached, I saw tents, cars and crowds.  There was a race in progress.  I immediately turned to the right and took another path that slipped along the back fence of the high school, and then another sharp right turn onto a familiar trail through the dense green of the woods.  I began to pay a bit more attention as this unimproved trail is "paved" with rocks, roots and the slippery places of life.

As I approached the end of this particular trail, I had the opportunity of crossing a busy road and continuing on the other side where I often see cross country runners practice in the green fields.  I have always wanted to run like that.   They appear to be merely floating and not sweating at all.

But on the other side of the road, I could see colorful triangular flags strung from tree to tree and hear the announcers for a cross country meet over to my left.  And so, I took another right, crossed a small wooden bridge, and continued to run on a trail through the woods that I didn't know.  I had no idea where I was going.  The trail was bordered by a late summer overgrowth of weeds, the deep green of a million leaves overhead.  But it was shady and silent.  I ran. 

When the trail turned, I turned.  I was in unfamiliar territory, not where I expected to be, not my usual.  But you know, God brings about the most unexpected blessings when I have no idea where I am, or where I am going.  He knows exactly where I need to be.

And it made me think of one of my favorite authors, Wendell Berry, speaking through his character Jayber Crow:  "I have made plans enough, but I see now that I have never lived by plan... I don't feel that I ever have been quite sure what was going on.  Nearly everything that has happened to me has happened by surprise.  All the important things have happened by surprise."

After one big hill that stretched before me like a magnificent aisle in a cathedral of trees, I emerged from the woods and found a trailhead I didn't know before, a different parking lot, and a whole new place to run.  I suddenly knew where I was.

God did not spell out my route, my destination, time, pace, and space. He did not hand me a route to take, marching orders, or directions printed out in indelible ink.  But He brought me to someplace new and to a different way of thinking through the thicket.  I did not just get through it, but He infused it with the wonder that only He can bring.

Our stories would be pretty boring, if we were the ones writing them.  God brings the awe.

I may not know where I am going.  But He does.  God is the one bringing me there -- to a new dimension of knowing Him, a new way, a new awareness of His Presence, even here, even in this.

God always reveals Himself when we seek Him.  Start where is proximate and "follow Me into this." His way may not be obvious, each individual step may come to the surface one at a time, I may not understand -- indeed I probably won't -- but there is always His profound design to it with no detours, interruptions, or dead ends. There is not "a reason for it," but God's incredible purposes in it, His faithfulness too deep for me to know.

Why does God not reveal His path for me?  Does He not trust me enough?

No, because I do not trust Him enough.

Where is He taking me?

To Himself.

And your ears shall hear a word
    behind you, saying,
"This is the way, walk in it,"
when you turn to the right
or to the left."

                     Isaiah 30. 21

Press "reset"

Whenever I come to a stalemate with an electronic device, my husband advises me, "Back all the way out, and start again."  Whether faced with a frozen screen or an appliance that is not cooperating like a three year old child, I question the effectiveness of that process.

But it works.

A couple of months ago, an ordinary Monday was a reset to me.  As I rose in the morning, I needed to just to do something different to gain perspective, nothing catastrophic but simply to ease me out of a mindset that was stuck in a continual loop.   What could I do differently?  Back all the way out, and start again.

I felt God's nudge to fast for the day.  I have fasted before -- in seeking God for an answer, direction, solution, or purpose.  Or for His voice in a crazy situation.  Sometimes seeking God for loved ones, hard times, and impossible relationships.

When I started that specific day, I was not planning to fast.  But I did, just wanting to seek His Presence, just to hangout with God,  just because I could. 

Very early in the day, I questioned why anyone labeled this discipline as a "fast," because it is anything but that.  A fast is always slow.  Time does not drag, but it elongates.  I felt the moments come as in slow motion.  I prayed for others as I went about my day, while I worked, having to concentrate as if driving on the highway through a thick rain. I glanced at the clock.  It was only 8.30 in the morning, nothing more.

A little later in the day, I thought about how fasting prepares you for a hard time ahead, because through it, as hard as it is, you learn that you will not die. You will get through this difficulty. And God will change you by it.

I had no particular reason to fast that day.  Or so I thought.

Later on in the afternoon, little did I see it coming.  I ran full speed right into a perfect storm, an old problem.  Boom.  I was like the cartoon character with little stars spinning above my head.  It was like being hit broadside by a car I did not see.  I consciously thought, "Breathe.  Breathe. Breathe," even when there appeared to be no oxygen, and my heart ran out of words.

And then I knew why I had fasted.  It was not "for no good reason." God stood firm around me.  My heart did not explode.  My life was not reduced beyond restoration.

I did not see it coming.  I didn't have to. God knew.  And He knew what I would need, an extravagant package of His strength, already delivered and dissolving into my bloodstream.

I refuse to live as a practicing atheist, as if fasting and praying and trusting God does not matter, as if God does not matter, as if the supernatural does not exist at all.  Because He does.  God is alive and well and working powerfully.

I did not fast for something.  I fasted for everything.  There was an ache buried deep in my heart that while at the end of the day was still there, it shifted just a little bit.  In the momentary crisis, I did not die, I was not buried alive by it, but a strange sense of peace passed over me, not an emotion, but a sense, a Presence.  And with it, a profound urge not to despair, but to pray in that place, to not miss that opportunity to pray, to take a different trail in this, a higher road, not insensitive to what was happening, but deepened by it.  It is not that my wounded feelings could not touch me, but as if I was even more aware of every nerve ending, what steadfast love feels like, what shalom does, a completing of what had begun, a new dimension opening and then another that does not end.  Not an outcome, but excavating a quiet place in my soul.

I did not fast for any reason than to be with Him. And that is exactly what happened, in ways I would never have chosen, in a place I could not have imagined.

At the end of the day, I came home and ate.  Was I starving?  No, not really.

Quite filled, actually.