I just read through all the posts I wrote about a year and a half ago and it was all I could do not to delete them all and just kind of start fresh. To be honest, some of them are slightly embarrassing. They make me uncomfortable, because I realize how different I used to be. It’s almost like a former self, one detached from God and, in all reality, the real world, wrote those things out of some feigned anguish. I want to leave that behind. I want to act like that wasn’t me. But it is, was, and to this day makes me slightly uncomfortable. But, to tell you the truth, that discomfort is tempered with gratitude.
I’ve been doing life with this girl for a while now and we have some very deep conversations that often lead me to realizations about life and God that astonish me. Several weeks ago, she and I were on the phone and the subject of “everything happens for a reason” came up. Sitting on the edge of my bed, staring into the dark, I tried to explain to her why I believed that God could not and would not will things into our lives that would cause us suffering, that he might “allow” it, but that a good God was incapable of inflicting suffering, even indirectly, on His children. She listened patiently as I rambled on about how evil in our own lives led to suffering in our lives and the lives of those around us, and how ultimately we were the ones in control. When I had finished, she said very calmly something that went like this:
“We definitely disagree on that. I can honestly say that everything in my life has led me to this point, and that God has a plan for me that involves some pain and suffering. I don’t know how I feel about predestination, but the God that loves me has not and will not leave me to my own devices or the devices of others. He may not directly cause me pain, but He let’s it happen because it is good for me. He is in control, not us.”
So of course, since she challenged a long held and cherished part of my theology, I became defensive and, as usual, we agreed to disagree. But that conversation planted a seed in me.
About a year prior to that conversation, I had begun a process of relying on God instead of my own understanding. I was slowly unwrapping the box that I had neatly stowed God in and piece by piece, the wrapping paper of my own self-serving theologies (the ones that involved me supporting my own ideas with scripture rather than allowing God’s word to form the foundation of my thought process) were slowly falling to the ground.
About a week after that conversation I was blessed with the opportunity to go to Europe with my family for a sight-seeing tour/retreat from reality, and that’s when things really started to change in me. God took that opportunity to pull me away from all my comforts: my free time, my girl, my food, my bed, my entertainment, even my sleep, and somewhere between the flight to France and the flight back to the States, God broke out of His box. All of the things on top of which I had based my inconsistent philosophies and theologies were gone and I had no towers of preconceived ideas left to support. So I started rebuilding everything about my faith. This time from the ground up. I tore into the Bible like a hungry child into a box of animal crackers. I soaked up the scripture with new eyes and a new heart, both wide open to the truth. I didn’t realize how truth-deprived I had become and it was like I had finally stopped denying the cravings in me.
I realized three major things right off the bat: first, that I am not in control of anything but my own attitudes, actions and reactions; second, that the point of my life is simply to be loved and in turn be love; and third, that everything happens for a reason. Since I was basically out of communication with everyone, I couldn’t wait to tell my girl about all the things that God had been doing in me during my time on another continent. When I told her that last bit, that I had changed my mind, that I realized that everything happened for a reason, that God had and still has a plan, she smiled this big, “I told you so, darlin” smile and gave me a long hug. It was comforting to know, in that moment, that even if I didn’t always feel like it, that God was quietly working everything for my good. That I no longer had to regret my past, but simply rest in the fact that God was in control in those dark times in my life. It was this beautiful peace that I cannot accurately explain.
All that to say, I don’t need to delete the old posts. They are a part of my story, the story that I am not writing, the story that God is writing, the one in which I am just a character, albeit a main one, not the author. The old posts, the ones that embarrass me, serve as a reminder that God uses everything in my life, even my sins and idiocy, for my benefit if I trust Him. It’s wonderful to relinquish control. I like to think of it this way: we’re in a car, me and God. I’m in the back seat, strapped into my car seat, with my bright red “Fisher Price” steering wheel in my lap. I can honk the squeeky horn on that thing and crank it this way and that all I want, but reality is, I’m in the backseat with a plastic steering wheel that isn’t even attached to anything. God is driving, and He’s whistling a comforting song while He drives along. I can throw a fit, kick, scream, throw my sippy cup, whatever I please, but it won’t change anything. God is still driving. And when I stop messing with that little red wheel, I can enjoy my juice, look out the window at the scenery, and fearlessly acknowledge others around me. Release your vicegrip on life, on the past, and on the future. Accept that you are not in control. Be still and let God drive.
