#life is like...

It’s been a long time since I really walked on water.

25 Shortly before dawn Jesus went out to them, walking on the lake. 26 When the disciples saw him walking on the lake, they were terrified. “It’s a ghost,” they said, and cried out in fear.

27 But Jesus immediately said to them: “Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.”

28 “Lord, if it’s you,” Peter replied, “tell me to come to you on the water.”

29 “Come,” he said.

Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. 30 But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, “Lord, save me!”

Matthew 14:25-29

It’s never really been a lack of faith in who Jesus is that has caused me to sink. It’s my inability to trust that even though people aren’t always good, God is good. For some time now, every time I hear that word “come,” I start out steady then see the winds of “what if this person doesn’t come through?” or “what if things are too messed up to be fixed?” or “I don’t know if I can change, or if I can let go” and I take my eyes off of the promise for good things and feel my ankles get wet.

So, to anyone who feels like they can relate, and to myself I say these wise and true words:

God makes beautiful things out of the dust.

Perhaps you have heard those words before, most likely in the form of Gungor lyrics. But I have been giving them some deeper thought over the last few days. I don’t mean to speak for you, but I would imagine that most people take this song to mean that God can make beauty from nothing, and God can make beauty out of us. This is absolutely true, but I think it goes deeper.

I’ve just been thinking about dust a lot. Yes, God can make beauty out of the simplest thing like a piece of dust. But I think we lose faith in the fact that God can make something beautiful out of the dust and debris of our disasters. The particles that float through the air after everything has finally just exploded, I believe that God can make beautiful things out of that too. In certain situations in my life, I am terrified that there’s been too much ugly for anything beautiful to blossom again; like we’ve uprooted all that was once so good, and those thirsty roots have nothing from which to grow. This I no longer feel to be true. I believe that God can make something new and wonderful out of the wreckage of our catastrophes. Sometimes what grows isn’t what we would have expected. But maybe we ought to be expecting daisies instead of roses. Or maybe we just shouldn’t hold on to some kind of expectation. Maybe we should simply let ourselves believe that something good can really grow, let go of the ugly, and just work on being whole.

So here’s to faith!

to dry ankles.

to letting go of things that keep us from being beautiful.

to daisies.

and to the promise of restoring our beauty.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how life is like driving. I don’t want to get all cliche here. I mean, I’m well aware that I am not the first person to make this analogy, and there are a lot of different ways I could go with this. There is the “Jesus, take the wheel” approach. I could talk about speed limits and traffic lights and stop signs and other things that slow us down. Or I could make some metaphor to cruise control or something. But I think I’m going to go the whole “life is a highway” route. Sort of.

Bear with me, this is going to get better.

I’ve been doing a lot of driving these past few weeks and it’s got me thinking. Some people think of our lives like a book and every time they move or get dumped it starts a “new chapter.” I’m not knocking that way of looking at life, but lately I’ve been thinking about life in terms of exits. Instead of town names or highway numbers, the signs would list the major events in our lives like graduating high school and college and getting married and finding a job or taking over the world or becoming president or whatever it is we do with our lives.

Sometimes when we’re driving we’re keeping an eye out for our exit because we know when to look for it. Like how around mile 17 or 18 we start looking for the exit that has “high school graduation/college enrollment” in big white letters and next to it will be a sign that says ‘attractions’ and there are a bunch of little square pictures that symbolize partying and sleeping in and freedom and skipping class. Then around miles 22-25 we start hoping that we’ll see an exit for marriage and by the time we get to mile 30 and still haven’t found it we figure we must be lost.

And then there are times when we see the exit we want to take, but for some reason there is a road block. Even though there are signs for a detour we know that that’s going to take a bunch of extra time and work and gas and we’re just not really sure it’s worth it. So we settle for a different route.

Then inevitably there will be times when we reach a fork in the road. Maybe it will be clear that we are supposed to “keep right” or make a “slight left” and we will just continue the way we were going, but other times we’ll have to make a real choice and we might not always make the right one. Then whenever we’ve made our decision and realize it’s not the one we should have made, we have to find a way to get back on track.

Unfortunately there are going to be times when we find ourselves in territory we would never have imagined ourselves venturing to, but we’re so out of fuel that we have to take that exit because we just can’t stay on the road we’re on any longer. That exit might say divorce or unemployment or relocating or something else that will change every aspect of our lives in the scariest way.

Or sometimes there will truly be nothing we could have done, but somehow we’ve taken this sharp turn and ended up in the land of sickness and death and funerals and tragedy and we never even saw it coming. And it feels like we will never be able to escape that place of grief and return to life as we knew it before.

Regardless of which of these categories we fall into at the moment, and we will all experience each of them at some point, it is important not to lose sight of our surroundings. It’s easy to fall into the trap of focusing on what’s ahead instead of enjoying the scenery around us. If the only thing we’re truly opening our eyes to is when the next big thing is going to happen in our life, we’re going to miss all the beautiful little things that we will pass on the way. It’s great to look forward to those truly exciting events of life, but if we pass away the drive by counting down the mile markers until the next exit, what fun is that?

As human beings we have a natural tendency to want to be in control. We like to see what we’re facing and be able to choose what happens with our lives. If even for a moment we are unable to see at least a portion of the road ahead of us, we go ballistic.

I remember the first time I sneezed while learning how to drive. I thought I was going to die, I really did. All of a sudden, while trying to master this terrifying skill of driving- putting myself and everyone else on the road at risk at all times- I was forced to close my eyes. No longer could I be sure I was staying in the right lane. I had no way of knowing if the car in front of me had abruptly stopped. What if I just ran a red light? I would have no clue. It’s a temporary yet dreadfully scary loss of control- not to mention you are now inevitably covered in boogers. When sneezes attack, for 10 to 30 seconds (or 15 minutes if you are my grandma or Alexis Martin) we are forced to blindly grip the wheel and hope that it all turns out okay.

For some reason, nearly everyone speaks about events in their future as if they are clairvoyant: ”in May we’re going to Cabo,” or “next summer I’m getting married” (note- these are two random examples, neither of which apply to me). How very presumptuous of us to think that we can ever know what will happen to us. Life is full of sneezes. Sometimes we feel them coming, and other times we are totally caught off guard. No matter what we think we see down the road, the truth is that at any moment we could be left gripping the wheel that guides our life with eyes tight shut, praying that we don’t get in a wreck.