Carys Comma
My Daughter,
It has been 4 months since I last worshiped God. Friends are getting concerned.
"What is going on?" a friend asked, "what do you think God is calling you to do, now?"
I don't think God has called me to do anything, other than what he has called everyone else to do.
"Yes, but, what is he saying to you?"
I haven't heard from him in a while. I was always taught that God is some chatty micromanager that's always sending down personal little messages and directions, but I realized that is probably not the case.
"That is the saddest thing I have ever heard."
Is it? I found it to be quite freeing.
"Don't you have a relationship with God?"
He has my number. I think I have his.
"Wow. This is all quite the change."
Yes, I think I am a better father to my kids. At least, I am now trying.
All this personal relationship spiritual mumbo jumbo has bothered me for a long time. It seems so self-centered.
They say God is always with you. Somebody told me that every time I sin, I reignite the pain of Christ's crucifixion wounds. Really? I have that kind of power over a god-man? I doubt it.
We want to think that God is a buddy that comes along next to us and tells us when to turn left and when to turn right, but I just can't believe that is the case. It is rare that I have heard from him at all. Yet, more common has been the impenetrable isolation of mistakes I have made on my own, and triumphs.
Unfortunately, my faith taught me how to be a self-centered ego-maniac. I learned that even God is in orbit around my important life. Now, as those old patterns fade and old beliefs crumble, I see how small I am. This realization bends my knees in worship to a deity much greater than I ever considered before.
God is no friend, no buddy. God is no masochistic sufferer.
God is.
An amazing thing happens when life is put into perspective. You start to look around and see true significance. I found that I spent so long looking for a tiny speck of light in the sky, when the whole world was illuminated with a fervent glow. The light of God is all around. It is so glorious and huge and bright that it goes unnoticed, like the canvas of painting.
Such is the salvation of doubt. Such is the hope of this descent - headlong into truth.
Sometimes, we even fall hopelessly into a new orbit. We become victims to a gravitational force that is - for the first time - not our own.
When we fall, we descend like reluctant acolytes forced to worship the gravitational deity - flailing, screaming, useless. And that is how I have loved you. I am a reluctant father, disarmed by a joyous plunge. Such is your gravity, my Dear, lovely daughter!
And I can hear God - calling.
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