Long ago, I listened to a remarkably holy man, a cancer patient, sharing a conversation with God about what he was going through.
It was a naked, piercing, and heavy testimony of the “when you’ve finally just had it” variety. During a morning quiet time in his big easy chair, he is praying and listening for God and suddenly (for are not these things rather sudden?) just breaks into venting and protesting the story God is writing for him. It’s not just cancer. It’s the ongoing changes and the constant vigilance and the misunderstandings and the shame and fear that attend. All his anger and helplessness and isolation explodes before the throne in frustration. He lets God know. (Wouldn’t it feel good to do that yourself, if you dared?)
And the man described hearing God reply, “I understand you don’t like the story. How do you feel about the Author?”
It’s one of two things the man shared that cut me to the quick. Not a pleasant reveal, but an unmistakably holy one. A divine refocusing.
For we all know it’s not really about life’s circumstances. It’s about the sovereign One who’s controlling them, or letting them happen, or however you interpret that. And I could tell you exactly how my journey (e.g. my family history, my weird and glitchy personality) has made me feel about God.
The other thing he said was:
“I could just hear the clarity coming to myself, and I finally said it: ‘What I really don’t like is, I’m now living a life where I need you, God, on a day-to-day basis, just to get through it. And I don’t like being desperately needy for you, God.'”