This morning I was reading Psalms again.
I love Psalms.
Sometimes I just get stuck in those chapters, spending weeks roaming around in David’s head. David’s emotions in the book of Psalms are so real and authentic. I can feel his fervor and passion for God one day and his anger at Him seemingly the very next. Reading Psalms and riding David’s roller coaster of emotion sometimes feel like reading my own thoughts.
Especially right now.
These past few weeks have been filled with an incredible amount of joy and my-heart-is-so-full-it-could-burst moments. I’ve felt like God was my pocket God. You know, the God who is so WITH you that you can just pull Him out of your pocket and hear Him and see Him. And like a pocket God does, He just answers your prayer with a word or snap of the finger. Amazing, right?
Now sure that’s, really, God all the time, but on most days our humanity doesn’t grasp that. Or my humanity doesn’t anyway. And God certainly doesn’t feel all pocket-ish and close all the time. But these past weeks He has.
And it has been blissful.
How did I get so blessed?
Oh yeah, He loves me.
But then I start to think and my human brain full of human ridiculousness (and awesomeness) wanders and I wonder, “Can’t this season just be every season? How do I get pocket God to be my God all the time?”
But wait, do I really want that? All the sunshine and none of the rain. All the sweet and none of the bitter.
I don’t think so. Paired together, the duality of these seasons bring so much more.
My friend once told me that attaching to someone (loving them) is as much about being with them as it is about being able to separate from them. When we can both be next to someone and know and trust their love and then leave them and know and trust their love the same, the healthiest, deepest sort of intimacy can be present. Friends, this is beautiful truth. And it seems to exist both in our human relationships and our relationship with God.
Separating from God then becomes almost instrumental in being close to Him.
How could my faith grow if it didn’t have room to sprout and leaf and bud and bloom and get all messy and beautiful?
This is my struggle. I don’t want the room. I mean, who does? It’s so painful and hard and stretching and uncomfortable. And, really, I want to be comfortable. I want to be big sweatshirt, PJs, comfy slippers, big down comforter and eight pillows comfortable. All. The. Time.
This doesn’t make me closer to God. Or to anything. Except maybe various soft fabrics.
So when I’m stuck in the book of Psalms, all fan girling on David, I remind myself that there are 65 other stories God wanted to write. Whether it is intensity and anger of Samson, the longing of Job, or the wisdom of Proverbs or Romans, each story has huge importance.
And my story, my crazy awful ugly beautiful amazing one, is exactly the same. Filled with angry books and somber books. With beautiful words as much as emotional guttural heaving grunts. Life happens there. And the sum total of that is worth time spent away from pocket God. However hard and uncomfortable it may be.
Lord let me rest in the story. The journey of all of my books and chapters. Thank you for making my story whole and complete in You.
Amen.
