As little dirt devils of potential ideas for the future twirl through my head, I think that some of my motivation for thinking about Peter getting out of the boat is putting words to what I want to believe. I want to have tangible or rational purposes to pursuing what God might be calling us to next. The main reason that I can hold on to for Peter getting out of the boat is who he knew Jesus to be. Who he knew his God to be.
For me, this is the most difficult thing. Understanding who God is. Sometimes I wonder if I actually believe any of this Bible stuff or God stuff, but just feel that there is no alternative. Intimacy is tough for me, and intimacy with God is really difficult. I feel like I keep trying to make choices that cause me to act on what I believe the Bible says, but often am really unsure about it all.
I hear people pray out loud to “Daddy” and know that is how Jesus prayed, but I have a really difficult time seeing God as “daddy”, or myself as a “beloved son”.
Tom Sipling had spoken about spending time with God, and had us close our eyes and picture that “daddy” was in the living room, and imagine yourself walking into the living room and hopping up on daddy’s lap. This was very difficult for me. I usually just pretend to do any of the visualization type exercises that are supposed to be great tools for self help or sports psychology, because I can’t really buy into it, but I tried this one…figured it couldn’t hurt.
Of course the living room that I pictured looked the same as the living room at our old house on Agostino Dr. We moved out of that house, after living there for 14 years, when I was about 15. This living room was where I accepted Jesus as my savior when I was four. I lived in this room, behind the couch, for a while when we had so many foster kids that we did not have enough rooms to keep all of us in. I struggled through a couple years of piano lessons in this room and snuck TV while I was supposed to be practicing the trumpet there.
When I was 7 years old, I had taken a bath and I had run down stairs to say good night to my parents, and I ran into the living room in just my underwear- to discover the Board of Christian Education from our church in there praying. That was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life, I can still actually feel the emotions I felt then.
This living room was the adult room, a kid like me would need a really good reason for going in there…so that is how I feel as I stand at the threshold of this room, wanting to “spend time with daddy”. Do I have a valid reason for taking his time? I approach with my mind racing through a checklist…no my room is not clean, no my homework is not done, yes I am dirty, I can’t remember if I left any of your tools out, I can’t remember if there was something else I was supposed to be doing with my time.
Then I quietly wait for God to notice me. Is He busy? He looks worried and frustrated, He doesn’t seem to want to notice me…maybe if He ignores me, I will go away. He seems to be paying some bills, maybe is stressed out from all the other children, they seem to have bigger problems. Are my issues important to him? I know I am not as talented as some of the other children, not as pious or pashionate. I have never aspired to be an honor roll boy, at least never aspired to that long enough to consistently make it…and there are some that are even in the Honor Society, I am pretty sure that if God has time and energy He would rather spend the time with them. I don’t have much to offer him. This is what I feel like as I think about God, He just doesn’t want to bother with me.
Now the God I wish I could believe in, when He saw me coming, “daddy” would be a little more like this, and my religious nature screams blasphemy, or maybe heresy….
The God I wish I saw in my mind would be sitting on the right hand corner of the couch, hands behind his head, feet crossed up on the coffee table. A confident and happy look, I guess a serene look, that a guy would have if he were all-powerful, all-loving, all-knowing. He would say “I was expecting you”, and tell me to throw the big log on the fire, a log that would burn a long time. I would sit next to him on the couch, he would reach into the cooler next to him and give me just the right beer for my mood, because my taste in beers changes with my moods. He would grin at me, a twinkle in his eye and say “look what I have!”, and He would pull out two cuban cigars.
We would sip the beer and make a nice cloud of cigar smoke to mingle and hover with whatever all that other smoke is that seems to go around with him (maybe that is what all that smoke was when Moses went up the mountain? He and God having a cigar?) I like to think of this God, because it smashes the religious pretexts I have, the God-in-a-box that I have always had in my head. A God with a cigar and a beer, that He is not a fake God, that He thinks what He created is OK, as far as tobacco, grain, hops and yeast go. That He would rather spend time with me than anything else…even if it means not being invited back to a big profit gospel hour.
I could small talk with him, or sit silently. Maybe on beer two we would start having a real conversation, I would let him know my frustrations and confusions. He would smile, because He already knows. He would help me figure stuff out…He would not simply take care of stuff or rub my failures in my face. He would not take my failures as a personal insult, because then I would not share my failures with him anymore, because I always just get Him feeling down. He would seem confident that everything would work out as we talked.
After this, maybe He would share some of His dreams, show me more of who He wants me to be. He would help me understand more of who He is.
On the third beer I would be able to tell Him what some of my dreams are. He would not tell me the impossibilities or why my dreams won’t work out. He would say He created me with these dreams already planted in me, and would help me to improve on a strategy for pursuing the dreams, he would help me to gain motives which were more pure. He would give me gifts of courage and compassion. Passion and perseverence. Humility and integrity. He would remind me that there is pain in pursuing these dreams, would give me wisdom to understand how Satan comes against me.
We would talk about other things…and we would sit and stare into the fire…somehow time sits still and goes by way too fast. Then, I have to go, and “daddy” says it was a pleasure, and He reminds me, that He has given me everywhere I set my feet and will bless everything I set my hands to do…what am I waiting for?
