I have unutterable thoughts. Thoughts that I can’t tell you. Not because I regard you as an unlikely confidante but because I can’t find words to express the thoughts inside. I can’t find a means to communicate them to myself.
Sound strange? Or does it sound familiar? Are some of your deepest thoughts and inner sensations quite beyond you too? Do you find yourself frustrated by what cannot be unraveled because its strand is too long, too tangled to ever be able to locate that one loose thread to start with?
I wonder at times like this why God has made me a being that is more than I can understand. Aren’t the mysteries of the world around me confounding enough without adding the variability of my nature to the mix? I’m so frustrated by all that I cannot understand right now. I wish God would explain more things to me. Why leave me in the dark? I question. The psalmists pleas are understandable to me now. I too cry out, “What benefit is there to this turmoil, God?”
I want to be able to handle life better than this, but for some reason God seems to be making the resources I need less readily available to me than He once did. Besides that, He seems far away. Well, farther away than I want Him to be. I can still see Him, but I have such a difficult time comprehending the necessity of this distance. Can’t we go back to the comfortable rhythms of relationship we knew before? I ask.
Can all this change really be the product of God looking out for my best interest. If so, why does it look so different than what He did before? I feel wedged into a place where no one can answer my questions but God. And He chooses to be silent. Yet, my heart still strains to talk to Him, if not fully with Him.
If this is Your plan, Lord, could You at least help me handle the transitions it brings in a better way? I chafe at the quietness with which You live out life with me, so will You give me more grace? Will You promise to remain steady and true even while I totter and fall? Could You remember my frailties and not be put off by my residue of faithlessness?
You need to give me confidence in this, Lord, because I wonder if I will ever come to the other side of this arid valley. I’m getting to know You here, but there’s still so much I don’t understand. I constantly wonder how I can possibly walk such an intimate path with One I know so weakly. I grow so weary of being secluded from the brightness of the light. But in the traces of light You give me, I find more than what is predictable; I find change.
You work in the darkness and You showcase the light. You do not rely on my vision of light to accomplish the things that lighten my soul. The transformation You are unfolding within me awakens an awe-inspired part of me I didn’t know existed. I wonder at a God for whom I’ve waited, yet for whom I couldn’t feel more unprepared. What…how do I respond to a God like You. You are wild and so intense. Always so much more caring than I expect, yet never so predictable as I hope. You are different from me, but still so close. You are above me–and thrills and terrifies me all at once.
You do not encompass the rigid little perceptions my mind has held of You. I ache from the affect of Your greatness pushing against the walls of my heart; telling me the place I hold for you inside of me is still too small. This all seems so crazy. I thought I knew You. Most of You, but for a few small details. How arrogant of me to think You so simple!
I don’t know what to do with myself now. Even more occupying is the numbness that leaves my response to You flat–without substance. How can I reply to You, God, with what I’ve seen. You defy what naturally issues for from my mouth. You have become bigger, but I have become smaller. I don’t know what to do with myself. I can’t contain You the way I once thought–in little itemized compartments that showed off Your work in ways that made me look finer. Truly You have burst the boundaries I assigned You. You have made everything I delegated to mind You obsolete. I have to learn You all over. I have to go to the beginning and review the facts again–there was too much I missed in the first perusal I made. My perception of You was not big enough then to truly understand what the truth Your being really meant.
I’m blown away–there’s no other word for it that I know. You are a being beyond my capacity to fully receive. You are a Person all on Your own, and there is so much to You that I will never see. This leaves me wordless, stilling my imagination. What I see and sense makes no sense and at the same time is the most sensible thing I’ve yet seen. You don’t fit here in my world–or in my heart–and yet You come. You somehow make Yourself small, small enough for me to absorb Your essence with some degree of joy. You don’t belong in my heart-i tat–in the sense that all of You just fits there seamlessly–but You make me Your earthly habitat anyway.
You are not only a God of another place, You are a God of another scope and depth than me. Previously my mind has filed these facts, but never has my heart engaged You on such obscure and rocky ground–holy ground. I want more but I don’t have the ability to receive except to the degree that You make me ready to receive further. Father, I guess if You’re going to show me this much, You better show me the rest of what You’ve set out to reveal. I better know the real You if I’m going to know You at all.