I’m lying awake at night thinking about how many times I read a blogger mention writing a book. It makes me think that perhaps I don’t need to be one more person creating noise in an already loud world. I’ve tossed and turned convincing myself of this, until I talk to my best friend in Kansas the next day.
“Why do you think we have four Gospels that tell the same story,” she asks. She points out that though the stories are the same, each one communicates in a different voice with unique perspective.
And isn’t this much of life? Standing among the crowds on the sidewalk, watching the parade of life pass by, I see the clown’s makeup while you notice the wheels on the car carrying the homecoming queen.
That simple, but wise statement my friend makes, it cracks the sky open for me on why it’s okay to be one more voice in a crowded room. God speaks often, just rarely in the same way.
The same is true when it comes to grasping how much God loves us too. Don’t we need repetition, reminders of what is true about Him?
I’m learning from Moses – a man born in obscure circumstances suffering with self-doubt – about why I don’t need to feel guilty about circling around an issue I think I should have already conquered as a Christ follower. Why I can read a passage of scripture one hundred times and the next time it becomes revelation.
Moses didn’t get it the first time either, how much God loved him, believed in him to lead the people out of Egypt. So He appeared as a burning bush, made hands appear leprous and then cured them, turned rods into snakes, turned rivers to blood, and parted the Red Sea.
And maybe this girl born in obscure circumstances suffering with “you want me to do what God” is a little like Moses too. Because sometimes we need one more miracle to believe in the kind of love we can’t comprehend.
I told you last week about having a series of dreams after an intentional time of prayer and listening. How my husband picks up a stray dollar bill lying in the parking lot at the mall and it reminds me of the dream I had the night before. I dream about collecting money lying around in a crowded room full of people who never saw it.
He buys me a bottle of water at Costco with it, reminds me that it’s a gift.
Two days later, I take a morning walk on the same path I usually take, except today I notice something different. This tree lined, quiet street scatters with play money on the pavement and grassy edges, like someone let go of a stack through the window of a moving car. It isn’t until I take a picture of it that I remember that dream.
And on my way back home, I bend over, zigzag across the pavement and collect what looks like strewn trash. Each piece of green and white collected like God whispering, “I love you, I believe in you, I’m with you.”
On the way home from work, my daughter stops to get a bag of ice and remembers she doesn’t have cash to pay for it. And just as she turns around to get back in the car, the owner of the icehouse insists she take a free bag.
When she tells us about what happened, I smile inside. He knows I need repetition to hear the message. That just like that water bottle and bag of ice, his love is a free gift, living water I can’t do anything to earn. And he will use a burning bush or random money scattered on the street to remind me.
Linking with Soli Deo Gloria, Just Write, WLWW, God Bumps, Walk With Him Wednesday, and this new community hosted by Duane Scott: