God Behind the Door

"I love what God has made. It is awesome." --Emma Allman

I am beginning to understand. Life does not provide you a blanket of happiness. There is no perfect wool blend of good feelings that God knits together with huge, gilded knitting needles. I think we all, as tiny brained mortal humans, believe this is what should be given to us. A woolly blanket of utter joy in which we can cuddle up day in and day out.

I am in full realization that perhaps this is not the way of things. I am often trapped in the shell of my existence, almost fainting at the thought that life is life. Just that. A chain of days bound together by breath and bone, of cups of coffee, and e-mail, of strangers passed in the grocery store, or in cars on the highway. It's a long line of days that we won't remember. We live them, but yet, the content of them is lost about as soon as we fall asleep.

I am beginning to understand that life is about dots. Random dots, like the flashes during a picture, that stop the continuum of days and make us remember. And often, flashes come in the form of children. In my case, children at Vacation Bible School. And in particular, in a story about Peter.

Now, each evening at Vacation Bible School, there is a Bible lesson. And each night, the room in which the children hear the story is quite the theatrical display. One evening, my group of second graders stealthily moved about the church, steering clear of "Roman Soldiers", looking for a small private room in which to gather as professed Christians (this secure area, in Vacation Bible School times, was the church prop room).

The little ones gathered in the small room, with a cross lit by a "fire" (it was only a Halloween prop, no fire involved, but dramatic nonetheless). It illuminated a cross (the brass one, from our sanctuary, but again, very dramatic). They awaited Peter.

For back story, the leader of our church's praise band had agreed to play the role of Peter. My oldest nephew, who was my VBS helper, noticed right away that that "Peter" was dressed in a garment that very much resembled a plush blue Snuggie. My nephew inquired, "Hey, is that a snuggie?"

To which Peter replied, "Yes, it is. A Biblical snuggie."

Later that evening, as Peter entered his secret room filled with second graders, dressed in a Biblical snuggie, perhaps he didn't realize that it would make me hear God through the door.

I stood outside the secret room, listening to Peter tell the children how he denied Jesus three times. Denied ever knowing of Jesus. Through the door, I heard little children sounds. Some giggles, some gasps, some muddled little children conversations. Peter reprimanding the children for getting too close to the "fire".

Denying Jesus. Interesting. Denying the good of him, the gifts, out of fear, or apathy, or anger, or sadness that we are not bundled in a blanket of perpetual comfort. Have I been a culprit? Turning my back on the gifts, so selflessly given?

The Bible point of the day was, "God loves you no matter what." No matter what. No matter if you turn your back.

After Peter left, when it was time to gather back in the sanctuary, a little girl, who had rewarded me daily with little back rubs and hand massages, pulled me down to her level, and whispered, "That man looked like he was wearing a dress." She smiled in the secrecy of her shared thoughts. I squeezed her hand a little.

"They wore things like that back then," I whisper back. The now infamous Biblical snuggie.

So flashes. Through wooden doors. Things you remember. Light that illuminates moments. Moments that perforate the chain of days.

And a God that always calls you home. No matter what.

God in the Closet

God,

I am in the closet again.

I think this is the best place to find you. In the dark. Perhaps you won't notice my flaws. I turn off the lights in hopes you don't notice them. Because in the light of day, they are all I see.

The thing is. I am lost. Hopelessly lost. Not lost like the little guy in a Dr. Seuss book, because that little guy eventually found his way. Yes, he did indeed. 98 and ¾ percent success guaranteed.

But, I am lost. I am lost in a way that books or maps or old fashioned ingenuity will not be of benefit. I am lost in a way that is black in its murkiest form. It's lost in a way that has no definition but lost.

I am outwardly fairly put together. I have always done what is expected, moved through the course of this life in a way that society examines and approves. I have had many people say, "You make this look easy."

But if they could only see me in this closet.

Surely, God, this is not what you imagined for me. This drudgery of day in and day out. I cannot fathom that my God would fashion any of for this for His beloved. His inheritance. Did you know most people don't think about this at all? That the drudgery is enough. I am on an island, it seems, longing for something more, something on which I can't place a black and white label. I know this longing only as a physical, palpable pain that I pack up and take with me everyday, like an item in my lunch bag. It is a portable pain, like a hard, bitter apple. It's the thing I never eat, but always bring along.

God, I am not asking for you to change anything. I am not asking for a way out. It's just You and me in the closet, fumbling about among disheveled pairs of khakis, and I want to be as honest as possible in this stripped down place. This space of absence. Although, now, I think I have accidentally placed my foot in the dirty laundry basket.

God, I am hurting. Hurting in a way that no one sees. And that is OK, for them, but not for You. You have always known me, right? Before I was ever conceived, right? You had a plan for me, didn't You?

Didn't You?

I am not in a position to question the Creator of the Universe. You wield the galaxies like swords and drop stars through the sky just to see children marvel. I get that. I imagine You opening your arms and embracing the expanse of space, like taking up a loving child. But, God, I am just a piece of dust, not even that, on the fabric of the universe, but I am hoping You will see me, and just pick me up on the tip of Your holy finger, and squint at me, and think: this one. This tiny bit of one, needs Me.

Again, I am not asking for my life to change, or for you to drop a big, glowing red arrow into my living room to point me in the right direction. Actually, I would LOVE a big red arrow, but that might be a little impractical. All I want right now is Your comfort.

Here, in the dark, I would like Your comfort. Enter this place and envelop me in Your capable arms. My Father, I need your comfort; take the bitter apple from my lunch bag and replace it with Your peace.

My children are banging on the closet door. They are inquiring, "Mom, are you in there AGAIN?" I do find myself in here a lot. But, God, I need you a lot. Consider my request? I would much rather pack a big slice of Your love in my lunchbox any day and ditch the apples.

Your forever faithful servant,
me