I would like to share a memory from the first half of our tour. It is one of my favorites. Last week we went to the shore of Lake Michigan. Sand, seagulls, and sunshine. Brilliant. My good friend got to come with us. A beautiful young woman of God with a heart to serve others and a love for poetry. A young woman who’s really struggling right now.
That afternoon, we walked down the beach and enjoyed the gorgeous autumn weather. We made friends with the seagulls. We walked the length of the pier. We saw scary flying fish. We practiced skipping rocks.
And we talked. About all the sorts of things you talk about when you’re walking in the sand playing tag with seagulls. And my friend told me how hard it was. How hard it was to keep on going when this big, strong, good God doesn’t do the things He’s supposed to do.
It was like holding a mirror up to my own heart. Everything she said, I’ve thought before.
I don’t even know who God is right now, and I feel like I should. I’ve got all these doubts and questions. Am I doing something wrong?
I tried to say something profound. I got distracted by the geese and forgot what I was saying. And then I saw the rock. A smooth, round white rock that sparkled when the sun hit it. I picked it up.
“This,” I said to my friend, “is how God sees you. Only cooler,” I added, holding it up to the light. “It doesn’t matter how many questions you throw at Him. His view of you never changes. Like this rock: white, blameless, perfect. And, look - it sparkles when the sun shines on it.”
My friend stared hard at the pebble. “God sees me like this?”
I nodded.
And right then and there, she started weeping. Crying out to the God who wouldn’t answer the way she wanted Him - needed Him - to.
I put my arm around her shoulder, and she put her arm around me. “Jesus,” she said in tears, “I’m so sorry. I don’t feel You right now, but thank You. Thank You for seeing me.”
“Huh,” I thought. “I don’t feel Him either.”
And I didn’t. Not at all. There we stood on this enchanting beach with sapphire water running away to the horizon, a breeze kissing our faces, and sunshine pouring down. And neither one of us felt the presence of God.
“Well, feeling’s got nothing to do with it,” I told myself. “The Holy Spirit lives inside us. And besides, God’s the One who made all this gorgeous creation. Of course He’s here.”
Even though I didn’t feel anything.
A couple days later, I asked God about it again. Where were You in that moment? In the words? The breeze? In the sky? Where? His answer was a reminder of the Body of Christ. We are called to be the literal hands and feet of Jesus. So where was He that day when I didn’t feel Him? . . . He was standing right next to me, with His arm around my shoulder.
That’s what God’s been teaching me lately. He doesn’t have to say anything. He doesn’t have to do anything. He doesn’t have to say “yes” to all my prayers or write a happy ending for every chapter. He doesn’t have to do any of this in order to be God. He simply is. God. All the time, regardless of how I feel or how circumstances scream otherwise.
In the end, He just wants to walk with us. Down the beach in the sunshine, chasing seagulls and skipping rocks.
That afternoon, we walked down the beach and enjoyed the gorgeous autumn weather. We made friends with the seagulls. We walked the length of the pier. We saw scary flying fish. We practiced skipping rocks.
And we talked. About all the sorts of things you talk about when you’re walking in the sand playing tag with seagulls. And my friend told me how hard it was. How hard it was to keep on going when this big, strong, good God doesn’t do the things He’s supposed to do.
It was like holding a mirror up to my own heart. Everything she said, I’ve thought before.
I don’t even know who God is right now, and I feel like I should. I’ve got all these doubts and questions. Am I doing something wrong?
I tried to say something profound. I got distracted by the geese and forgot what I was saying. And then I saw the rock. A smooth, round white rock that sparkled when the sun hit it. I picked it up.
“This,” I said to my friend, “is how God sees you. Only cooler,” I added, holding it up to the light. “It doesn’t matter how many questions you throw at Him. His view of you never changes. Like this rock: white, blameless, perfect. And, look - it sparkles when the sun shines on it.”
My friend stared hard at the pebble. “God sees me like this?”
I nodded.
And right then and there, she started weeping. Crying out to the God who wouldn’t answer the way she wanted Him - needed Him - to.
I put my arm around her shoulder, and she put her arm around me. “Jesus,” she said in tears, “I’m so sorry. I don’t feel You right now, but thank You. Thank You for seeing me.”
“Huh,” I thought. “I don’t feel Him either.”
And I didn’t. Not at all. There we stood on this enchanting beach with sapphire water running away to the horizon, a breeze kissing our faces, and sunshine pouring down. And neither one of us felt the presence of God.
“Well, feeling’s got nothing to do with it,” I told myself. “The Holy Spirit lives inside us. And besides, God’s the One who made all this gorgeous creation. Of course He’s here.”
Even though I didn’t feel anything.
A couple days later, I asked God about it again. Where were You in that moment? In the words? The breeze? In the sky? Where? His answer was a reminder of the Body of Christ. We are called to be the literal hands and feet of Jesus. So where was He that day when I didn’t feel Him? . . . He was standing right next to me, with His arm around my shoulder.
That’s what God’s been teaching me lately. He doesn’t have to say anything. He doesn’t have to do anything. He doesn’t have to say “yes” to all my prayers or write a happy ending for every chapter. He doesn’t have to do any of this in order to be God. He simply is. God. All the time, regardless of how I feel or how circumstances scream otherwise.
In the end, He just wants to walk with us. Down the beach in the sunshine, chasing seagulls and skipping rocks.
