I think that sometimes we are more comfortable with fallibility than we are with goodness we don’t understand.  There are many reasons why a human relationship can be easier than one with God, and I think this is one of them.  Even though people hurt and scar us, we can point to their faults and reach some sort of conclusion about why they did what they did.  That’s not so
easy with God.  He is infinitely good.  He is perfect.  He is flawless.  So how do you explain the things that seem so awful and somehow fit that pain in the framework of a God who does no wrong?

I don’t know about you, but that makes me just a tad nervous.  If we really want to be serious about this God we serve, we have to face the fact that His love is not always going to look the way we’d like it to.  We are assured of its existence, but have no guarantees that we will understand when we see it.  As I have grown and healed, and lived a few more years of life, I have come to appreciate much more the true risk of intimacy with God.  And I speak not from a place of anger against Him, but from respect for the size of the task.  Risk my deepest affections on a God who may cause my parents to die suddenly, or allow me to lose my job or be betrayed by my dearest friends, or be left a cripple for the rest of my life from a freak accident?  I believe with all my heart that God is good.  But I also believe that He is beyond my understanding.

Just recently I was having this discussion, well; it started out as a monologue, with God.  You know how that goes.  How often does God patiently listen to us prattle away until we run out of steam?  He had pushed me into a corner and I was firing those questions at Him and asking what kind of predictability could I expect from Him?  What would happen if He goes silent, what if He pulls away, what if I can’t hear Him, what if my life falls apart?

When I finally dared to be silent, my questions echoed in their emptiness.  I was only putting God into a box.  If I were to ask Him to make this relationship comfortable for me, heaven would heave a sigh and He would sadly give me the pennies I was asking for.  There is no way without great risk to my heart.

At the same time that I knew my questions were no good, I knew it had been essential that I faced them.  God brought me to the place where I made the conscious distinction between pursuing immensity and remaining small.

I knew He was making me no promises.  He was not promising to be near all the time, or to explain everything to me or to keep my life free of pain.  Yet in the same moment that this realization was sinking into my spirit, I also knew that He was giving me Himself.

While I cannot even fathom what all that may mean, it sunk deeply into my spirit and somehow I think He was pleased.  He tells us much about His character and actions in Scripture, and I think He longs for people who will be intimate with Him, not His assurances about our specific lives.

I really don’t know what I have gotten into, and I can’t say I am without concern.  But there is no going back, and I really don’t want to.  There will be ups and downs, of that I am certain, but the bold assurance of the glorious richness of intimacy with Him is steadily growing.