Lead Us Not Into Temptation

Our Father, Who Art in Heaven...

I got a letter in the mail today, written on tissue paper, from a friend I hardly know. She talked about lightning and about uncertainty and about paintings and about separation. In short, she is one cool cat. But it got me thinking.

"If His ways are higher," she wrote, "and His thoughts -- who can know them? then it makes sense -- the feeling of being lost occasionally -- 'Relax,' Kateri says, 'You're not hearing His will? He just hasn't told you yet. Wait on Him to the point of feeling uneasy, past that point until we feel our need on Him and trust Him alone.' What does He delight in? A heart that sees Him."

She's going to be my roommate next year. (I'm so lucky.)

If I could be one of the elements, I would be water. I'm not, of course; I'm earth like everybody else: "From dust to dust." But since I was a little girl, I have loved the rush of storms. In the water-soaked air I would turn and turn until the whole world seemed to be a rushing, swirling fountain. The world is, after all, puddle-wonderful (e. e. cummings). I have always felt that rain is God's way of touching me, and the raindrops are His fingers.

For Thine is the Power...

A week or so ago, my cousins and I ran out onto the beach in Pensacola to watch as a lightning storm broke between the clouds over the water. For the first couple days of our vacation there, at about four o'clock each afternoon, the sky would become black and ominous away behind the city. Over the ocean it would still be a pristine blue, and so we never knew that a storm was coming until fat raindrops began to hit our faces. We would quickly lower our beach umbrellas, gather up our coolers and towels, and rush back to the safety of our condos. But this evening we girls couldn't resist the deep utterings and bright glances of lightning. The sky looked like Zeus's battleground. The clouds were hazy purple, and from one to the next would shower bright bolts of lightning, hotter than the sun. Sometimes we could only see the clouds light up, like a lampshade behind which the bulb has briefly been snapped on, then out. Once, a thick crooked beam dove into the ocean about a mile off the beach where we stood watching. We all ducked instinctively behind the railing of the pier and stared at each other with wide, excited eyes.

That night, God felt dangerous.

Thy Will Be Done on Earth...

It's a lot easier to think about sacrificing my life to death than to think about sacrificing all of the things that make me alive. Family, sweet iced tea, and affectionate kisses, for instance. Human sympathy and Frank Sinatra. My hands are full of things like this. A bundle of things that make life worth living. Sometimes I wish Jesus hadn't said, "Whoever loses his life for my sake will find it." I have a feeling He wasn't talking about dying, but was talking about making your hands -- my hands -- empty.

God is not safe. He asks me to lose my life for His sake. God is dangerous.

Sometimes I believe that God is asking me to give and give and give, and I'd rather just keep the things that make me comfortable, that make life easy, that keep me safe.

What I forget to remember is that in order to receive anything, my hands have to be empty. I also forget that God is not anything. He is a pearl of greatest price. Am I too afraid to sell everything I have just to buy the field where the best and most beautiful Thing on earth is hidden? Am I too afraid to brave the lightning for the sweet touch of rain?

I happen to believe that many of the things in my life are God-given. Some are temporary, some are permanent. Trying to figure out which is which is much more complicated. My friend said, "There are things that are a blessing for a time and then He takes them back. Sometimes He requires us to let go of something before we can see what He would have us grab onto. If our hands are full, how do we receive?" So, if you're out there and you're wise, I have a question: How do you know what is grabbed and what is received? I mean, how do you know what God is calling you to?

"Is there a steady growing excitement?" she wrote, leading me to clues. "A regret if you don't do it? A peace? Do you like the consequences of the action? If it's a new thing that has come along, are you willing to sacrifice the original for this? Will it interfere with priorities?"

Give Us This Day Our Daily Bread

It is comforting to remember that Jesus didn't just say, "Whoever empties His hands," but also said, "Do not worry about tomorrow..." and John says, "This is love: not that we loved God, but that He loved us...."

Lightning terrifies me, but God's embrace is in the rain. And lightning is extraordinarily beautiful. If I turn out my pockets, I think God will take some things away. But He will also put some things back, and replace the old with the new. In following His will to the point of feeling uneasy, past that to the point of being able to trust only in Him, there comes an all-surpassing peace.

Hallowed Be Thy Name.