Quiet times are underrated. The greatest pull I feel is when I am least likely to heed the call. I confess my character is not especially quiet. I readily identify with Peter of all the disciples.
I could say that He made me loud and somewhat brash and leave it at that. But I don’t think He wants me to settle for less than He offers. Any worthy pursuit requires some reshaping. But first, He needs to get my attention.
The winds of change blow through this time of year, like it or not. While autumn remains my favorite season, I’m a little sorrier to see this particular summer end. I usually look forward to the cooler weather with impatient interest, but this summer we enjoyed the lake so thoroughly, I’m saddened to see the water temperatures dip below my tolerance for un-insulated swimming. At 78 deg Fahrenheit, we are an idle cloud away from my lower limit.
As one who successfully avoided the use of ATM cards for several years, I can’t be accused of living on any edge. I can park physically, emotionally, and spiritually with unfortunate ease. I understand the counterfeit comfort of complacent living, complacent loving, complacent faith. But I also know it isn’t healthy.
One of my wonderful sisters led me to a personal relationship with Christ. When I have questions about things evangelical, hers is an opinion I trust. She told me she was once in a church where others were experiencing something unusual, such as I mentioned. She simply prayed to experience it, if it were of God, and to have it pass her by, if it were not. Pretty darn sensible and biblical. And, it passed her by.
That lesson stuck with me, because I sometimes find myself wondering what else I should be doing. For Him. For His people. For my eternity. I don’t want to miss the opportunities He gives me. I want to see these clearly and pull these in to embrace.
Autumn is a time to assess the year and prepare for the next. Even endeavors that had a holy origin may no longer be God’s best for me. And those that are, I need to fully engage. I don’t to be the one hanging around Mount Sinai after God leaves for the desert. If God has moved on, I want to swiftly follow.
One of my favorite childhood activities was playing in the backyard with my brothers. We climbed trees, jumped out of swings, ran through water sprinklers, chased the dog, and gathered buckets of chinaberries to have chinaberry wars (a painful experience for the sister of two future baseball-pitching brothers). I learned to run fast and climb high. Inevitably, we would end up near the back fence digging holes and dragging out the water hose to create little lakes. I fashioned mud pies while my younger brother was assigned the task of tasting them. But I was never successful in coercing my older brother to sample my wares.
During those days in the backyard, with my limited experiences of the world, my mind couldn’t even imagine the fun I would encounter and the distant places I would visit later in my grown-up life—hiking near the Grand Tetons in Wyoming, riding horses in Colorado, seeing the moon glisten on the white sands of Pensacola, Florida, splashing in the waves on the beaches of Santa Barbara, California, and tromping through the misty green footpaths of England. My childhood eyes couldn’t see that far or even imagine the experiences and the grandeur of the places I would visit. I was content to make mud pies.
Today, as an adult, I sometimes find myself in that place of being content with less than a-child-of-the-king existence, like a child playing with mud pies, when God wants to show me so much more—He longs to reveal His wonders to me. C.S. Lewis once said, “Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at sea. We are far too easily pleased.”
Far too easily pleased. Like Lot, who became comfortable and complacent with Sodom, and his wife who was even more entrenched in the allurement of her culture. She craved the delights of Sodom; God’s will mattered little to her. As a child prefers mud pies to a vacation abroad, Mrs. Lot desired the pleasures and comfort of Sodom more than the riches of God.
I wonder how many of God’s treasures pass us by because we don’t have eyes to see that far—the ability to imagine the goodness-beyond-comprehension of our God. And so we settle for the comfortable, easy existence. Lives of going-with-the-flow because it offers counterfeit peace. Choices that lead us to avoid conflicts and struggles, but miss out on the deliverances of a majestic, mighty God. We miss the joy of journeying through life with God.
What part of God’s character do we miss when we find ourselves wanting those things that aren’t best for us, not comprehending what He has in store for us, and not fully understanding the depths of His love? What heavenly mysteries remain unknown to us because we don’t desire them? What riches reserved for us wait in heavenly vaults? What blessings do we forfeit because we’ve become content playing with mud pies in the backyard of less-than-royal circumstances?
Our hearts so easily take for granted the gift of His grace, so quickly dismiss our position as heirs to the King of Kings.
“…eye has not seen and ear has not heard, and which have not entered the heart of man, all that God has prepared for those who love Him.” (1 Corinthians 2:9).