This is one of those “I have no idea what to write” weeks so let’s see what comes out occasions.
I doubt many things – myself, other people, whether what we plan will work as we expect, even whether God will agree with what I think is important. But I don’t doubt God Himself. I don’t always like Him (He often doesn’t agree with me), but I don’t doubt Him. He is real. He is everything He has revealed Himself to be and more. I wish I could express that so that all those who long for God to be real would know, He is.
Often, I encounter anti-theists, people who hate God, who battle against Him. (I regularly pray for them.) Often they are hurt. Often, they are confused. Always, they fail to understand that they are not doubting God. How is it possible to be angry with someone who doesn’t exist? They are angry that God is not as they think He ought to be.
God is frustrating, like a parent saying we can’t have cookies before dinner because they will spoil our appetite. He will not make our world as we see fit but instead, works according to His purpose and we must accept both His purpose and that only He knows how to accomplish it. My fighting God days ended when I began to ask, what if God is right and I am wrong? What kind of world would exist if God followed my script? What if I’m asking to cast myself as God and make God merely a character in my own story? (That one terrifies me.) Do I really want God to be under my control? Do I think I’m big enough to keep all that is in existence? To create all that is new? Can I create even one human being in my image? Am I big enough to love everything and everyone?
It’s hard when life isn’t as it ought to be. But if I haven’t the power to fix it, if all I can do is complain and insist that things ought to be different, then I’m like the dwarfs in C.S. Lewis’s The Last Battle:
Aslan raised his head and shook his mane. Instantly a glorious feast appeared on the Dwarfs’ knees: pies and tongues and pigeons and trifles and ices, and each Dwarf had a goblet of good wine in his right hand. But it wasn’t much use. They began eating and drinking greedily enough, but it was clear that they couldn’t taste it properly. They thought they were eating and drinking only the sort of things you might find in a Stable. One said he was trying to eat hay and another said he had got a bit of an old turnip and a third said he’d found a raw cabbage leaf. And they raised golden goblets of rich red wine to their lips and said, ‘Ugh! Fancy drinking dirty water out of a trough that a donkey’s been at! Never thought we’d come to this.’ But very soon every Dwarf began suspecting that every other Dwarf had found something nicer than he had, and they started grabbing and snatching, and went on to quarreling, till in a few minutes there was a free fight and all the good food was smeared on their faces and clothes or trodden under foot. But when at last they sat down to nurse their black eyes and their bleeding noses, they all said: ‘Well, at any rate, there’s no Humbug here. We haven’t let anyone take us in. The Dwarfs are for the Dwarfs!’
‘You see,’ said Aslan. ‘ They will not let us help them. They have chosen cunning instead of belief. Their prison is only in their own minds, yet they are in that prison; and so afraid of being taken in that they can not be taken out.’ (1)
On Friday,100s of bloggers set a timer, write for 5 minutes, and then post the results over at Kate Motaung’s blog, Heading Home. She provides the prompt on Thursday evening. We don’t edit or concern ourselves with whether our writing is flawless or worthy to be seen. We expose our incomplete, unpolished thoughts and words to each other and our readers and tweet them with the hashtag #FMFParty. Join us.
(1) C.S. Lewis, The Last Battle (New York: Macmillan Publishing Company, 1978), 147-148
Image Source: http://revbickers.blogspot.com/2012/05/romans-61-14-dead-to-sin-alive-in.html