Usually, I want to know the future. I think I need to know it to be able to trust that God is as good as that leather book on my side table says He is. I want it all written down and handed to me in a black and white. I want an anthology of my life, typed out and waiting at my door.
I want it badly, so I can sit down at a cafe in a big city somewhere, pull out a highlighter and pen, underline the good, highlight the fantastic, cut out the bad and stick it in a box somewhere marked “Fragile, Handle With Care.” I want to know what my decisions will lead to before I make them. To know that this will all really and truly turn out good at the end of the day. I want each moment mapped out, the next seventy-five years in black and white. The ink dried and unchangeable. The kind that no white-out can make disappear and no Sharpie can cover. Usually.
And then there are moments of lucidity, moments that stick out like Pins dropped on the GoogleMaps App of my life. Moments that remind me why I am not in control and that God holds the world much more magically than even Walt Disney once did.
Because I’m beginning to understand that this life is an ever-changing process. An ever-growing relationship with the Man who loved us enough to hide from us the things that we could not understand. Because He walked this earth and knew what it meant to seek. Knew that something important came in the unsure seasons. Knew that something incredible came when God was glorified in the moments when we say, “Daddy, I want you to take this away, but more importantly I need you.” That He hung on that cross with the same desire.
He prayed in the garden that the hardships would be taken away, but knew with his whole self that it was worth it when God said there was no other way. That He, just as much of a man as He was God, decided that death was His path because I was worth it. A concept I just can’t fully grasp, but one I’ll be eternally working out in thanksgiving. Because the God-man Himself felt the deep emotions that fill my heart and bring mist to my eyes. That He bled from his pores for emotions bigger than the ones that I push down and try not to feel.
And in the midst of those emotions, He chose Love. He chose ME over himself, over all the plans He could have substituted. He chose to follow the will of the Father because He knew that the Father knew best.
And I’m learning that no matter what I feel, He is still Good. That it’s not so much about whether it’s a bad or good day. Or if I’m fulfilled or drained by the work that I’m doing, because it’s an hour to hour situation lately. But I’m learning to rest in the fact that He is Good, and that is enough. I’m in the beginning stages of understanding my misunderstanding. Beginning to dive deeper into the mystery that is Christ, swimming further than I’ve ever dared, scared to run out of my life-breath, and realizing the deeper I go, the more breath I have. And it’s an anomaly that can’t exist and yet it does.
But so was Christ, and so He is today.