"I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship."
-Louisa May Alcott
When my sister and I were little, we played in the woods behind our house. We dreamed up these great adventures beneath the trees. A fallen tree over a pond suddenly became a bridge over hot lava; a fort made of sticks became our tee-pee. We were pirates, gypsies, sailors, lumberjacks and damsels in distress. Out in our woods, we could be anything.
Billie and I wanted a tree house more than anything. Our grandpa, who lived next door at the time, is a woodworker and he helped us gather scraps and boards and we set out to build a tree house. It turned out to be more like a tiny platform with a small ladder built between some small birch trees, but it was the best tree house we ever had.
While building it, board by board, I found this triangular scrap of wood and we nailed it to one of the trees. It swiveled and turned which ever way you'd like, and soon it became a helm, and the tree house became a pirate ship.
We would spend hours in our pirate ship, steering and searching for land, anchoring ashore to find gold and jewels, shooting off canons into the water. We lived within our imagination as soon as we stepped aboard our ship. Nothing could touch us; we were invincible.
As we grew older, our tree house became like a fortress to me. I would run out there to think, to talk to God, to cry or scream or jump for joy at something that had happened in my life. I would go to be utterly alone, to separate myself from the world and everybody in it for just a little while.
Recently, something happened at home that made me run. I don't know why, but my first instinct was to run, to get away, to stop the people and voices shouting at me, questioning me, pressuring me. So I did, I just ran. I ran in a T-shirt and boots. I trudged through snow. Twigs slashed at my tear- stained cheeks. I ran until I reached my ship, grown over with lichen and moss, parts of wood chipping off at the edges.
I climbed aboard. I sat on a stump made into a stool, sized for a 6-year-old. And as the storms and waves crashed around me, I screamed into the thunder up at God. I kicked at the starboard, I threw sticks and fistfuls of dirt and snow at the port. "What do you want from me God!?" I screamed aloud, my voice heard only by the trees. "Why can't you just tell me!? Why can't you just tell me what to do?! What do you want from me!?" Over and over, I screamed these questions into the allusive sky.
And I heard nothing. Though my heart longed for and wished for something, anything, I heard nothing but the sound of my echo and my heavy breathing. God was not in the storm. His voice did not break through the thunder or the waves of turmoil crashing around me. God was silent.
I stopped screaming. I was angry that God didn't answer me. After weeks and months of praying for something, he still did not answer me. I calmed my breath, I tied my boots, I wiped my tears, and I waited.
And I'm still waiting.
Today I was reminded of the story of Elijah in the Old Testament. He was afraid, so afraid in fact that he wanted to die. He gave up, fell asleep, and God sent an angel to wake him up. "Wake up and eat and drink something!" So Elijah did. He ate, drank, slept, and waited. Finally he got up and traveled, tired of waiting I presume. He walked for 40 days and nights until he reached a mountain and he went into a cave. While he was sleeping he thought he heard a voice, "What are you doing here Elijah?" So he told Him, "These people want to kill me." God said, "Go outside and wait, for God is about to pass by.
A great and powerful wind passed by - but God was not in the storm.
An enormous earthquake passed by - but God was not in the earthquake.
After the earthquake came a great fire - but God was not in the fire.
But after the fire..... came but a still, small voice. A whisper, which said again, "What are you doing here Elijah?" And Elijah answered. And this time, God told him what to do.
So, because I have no other answers, and because I am afraid and terrified like Elijah was, am doing what Elijah did. I will eat and drink and sleep and go about my usual day. I will walk and go places and learn things until I find my cave. And there I will wait for the storms, and earthquakes, and other voices, to pass, until I can hear that still, small, whisper.
I climbed aboard. I sat on a stump made into a stool, sized for a 6-year-old. And as the storms and waves crashed around me, I screamed into the thunder up at God. I kicked at the starboard, I threw sticks and fistfuls of dirt and snow at the port. "What do you want from me God!?" I screamed aloud, my voice heard only by the trees. "Why can't you just tell me!? Why can't you just tell me what to do?! What do you want from me!?" Over and over, I screamed these questions into the allusive sky.
And I heard nothing. Though my heart longed for and wished for something, anything, I heard nothing but the sound of my echo and my heavy breathing. God was not in the storm. His voice did not break through the thunder or the waves of turmoil crashing around me. God was silent.
I stopped screaming. I was angry that God didn't answer me. After weeks and months of praying for something, he still did not answer me. I calmed my breath, I tied my boots, I wiped my tears, and I waited.
And I'm still waiting.
Today I was reminded of the story of Elijah in the Old Testament. He was afraid, so afraid in fact that he wanted to die. He gave up, fell asleep, and God sent an angel to wake him up. "Wake up and eat and drink something!" So Elijah did. He ate, drank, slept, and waited. Finally he got up and traveled, tired of waiting I presume. He walked for 40 days and nights until he reached a mountain and he went into a cave. While he was sleeping he thought he heard a voice, "What are you doing here Elijah?" So he told Him, "These people want to kill me." God said, "Go outside and wait, for God is about to pass by.
A great and powerful wind passed by - but God was not in the storm.
An enormous earthquake passed by - but God was not in the earthquake.
After the earthquake came a great fire - but God was not in the fire.
But after the fire..... came but a still, small voice. A whisper, which said again, "What are you doing here Elijah?" And Elijah answered. And this time, God told him what to do.
So, because I have no other answers, and because I am afraid and terrified like Elijah was, am doing what Elijah did. I will eat and drink and sleep and go about my usual day. I will walk and go places and learn things until I find my cave. And there I will wait for the storms, and earthquakes, and other voices, to pass, until I can hear that still, small, whisper.
No comments:
Post a Comment