I was talking to my wife today. She has been feeling very anxious about everything going on, including world events, the visa process, and being away from each other for so long. She described it as torture, and it is. Having your life put on hold by a faceless person in an office somewhere, because someone decided that your wife's nationality makes her likely to become a burden on the state, ignoring your own circumstances in the process, is truly a form of torture. Having your own government hold your life ransom, for whatever reason, is unconstitutional. Thank God a federal judge agrees.
I feel exactly the way she does about all of this. I feel like a candle burned down to the wick. I am out of energy. I do not even want to wake up because the days are not getting any easier. When I was young, I imagined life would get easier as I got older. I thought I would have more money, a house, and a wife; I thought life would be good, and I would be happy, fulfilled, and content. Maybe I would have been if the 2010s had never happened. If the 2020s had never happened. Maybe life is great and happy in another universe, but in this universe, it is harder than ever to find happiness or contentment. It is hard to find joy during the slow destruction of our world by powers who care about nothing except making more money. The rich get richer, and the poor can just die.
Life changes in the blink of an eye. Someone veers left of center, a deer runs into your path, a rock you didn't see catches a wheel the wrong way, unknown heart disease sneaks up on you, an aneurysm ruptures, or you simply don't wake up in the morning. Life is short, fragile, and at times feels incredibly pointless, futile, and a waste of time. You stretch yourself as thin as possible because your job demands it, your family demands your time, and your friends want some, too. Soon you feel like the last bit of butter spread across one piece of toast too many. It is easy to give up.
I am trying to push forward in life. I am trying to explore the places God wants me to be and hear His call on my life. I understand we all have a general duty as Christians: making disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey all the commands Jesus gave us. But there is also a personal "call" on someone's life, an assignment to a unique role or vocation, such as leadership, ministry, or everyday work, meant to build up the faith community and serve others.
This is the call I am looking for. I am trying to listen for where God wants me to help build His kingdom. I admit it is entirely possible it is right where I already am. It could be running a parts store with honor, integrity, and love, making people ask, "What is it about this man that makes buying parts not so bad? Why do I feel good when I just spent an obscene amount of money for that part?" For my time here, that may be what I should be doing, and every part of me should be praising God while selling car parts. But maybe it is my ego, or my desire to be more than I am. I just don't feel that this is my final destination in God's mission.
That is what I desperately want to discover: Where is my destination? Where am I heading? Where can I be of the utmost service to God? Is it to be a pastor, like I have thought and said since I was barely in double digits? Is it somewhere else, doing something I haven't thought of yet? I feel called to church leadership, but in what position? There is a reason God put it on my heart to become a manager at my store, a reason I wanted to work in retail and do this job. But the longer I am there, the more I feel this was just the first step. It is time for me to move on and into the final role God has for me.
It isn't easy. When you can't hear God speaking, when it feels like His prophets are gone and silent, it is hard to find the strength and courage to move forward and keep searching. It is hard not to want to bleed out. Some of you know, and some of you won't, that in spiritual gifts assessments, Mom always scored as a prophet first. Her secondary and tertiary traits might shift, but it was always prophet, followed by discernment, teaching, and other supporting traits. When Mom passed away, I began to feel a bit like Israel must have felt in the silence between Malachi and Jesus. God was silent.
Recently, I went to church and prayed during the service. I felt lost; I couldn't hear God the way I did when Mom was around. Mom and I talked about God, church, and the Bible a lot. We had so many spiritual conversations. But that Sunday, I heard God speak to me. I don't know if it was comfort. I was asking Him why He would take Mom from me when I still needed her, needed her to help me with my marriage, my life, buying a house, and everything else that was and is coming.
God told me: "I took home what was mine."
I don't know if this was a comfort. God took back what was His in the first place. Mom loved her churches; she loved being their pastor and friend. She valued every single person, even the troublemakers, because God loved them so much. Mom belonged to Him from the moment she offered herself fully to Him, even when she wrestled with trust. She was God's.
Was there comfort in God telling me this? Yes, a little. I know without a shadow of a doubt where she is right now. I know she is finally fulfilled, her body no longer hurts, and she is the best she has ever been. But that is kind of where the comfort ends for me.
I am still feeling lost and alone. I am still a burned-out candle. God took home what belonged to Him. Her job was finished; like a contract worker, she fulfilled her contract to the best of her ability. God saw that it was good, and He took her home to be with Him.
I belong to God, too. I want to follow in her footsteps. I want to love like she did, even when she wanted to hate. I want to bring laughter and joy to everyone who meets me. And I want God to someday tell my family, "I took home what belonged to me."
Comments
Post a Comment