What the...? If you’re real God
Written by: Drew Marshall on Nov 3, 2009
Lately, I've been challenged by some people to re-evaluate why it is that I seem to be constantly ragging on the Church. Some of these well-intentioned people have openly challenged the maturity of my faith and even questioned my "salvation". I can't help but wonder how much of their concern for me is based on dogmatic, indoctrinated attitudes or is it merely just a difference in personality? There's no question, I'm an iconoclastic, reflective, pessimistic, vulnerable, doubter, which has never really gone over that well inside the Church, especially the ones immersed in "victory language." However, one point needs to be clear. I've ALWAYS been this type of human. As a matter of fact, it was thought by the teachers of my first primary school that I should probably seek out further education elsewhere as my questioning personality had worn out it's welcome!
Anyway, in the words of Neil Young, "There is a place in North Ontario..." and it's been here where I have just spent two weeks in mostly silent reflection and personal re-evaluation. It's not quite as "monkish" and serene as it sounds. The new bagpipes I bought, and am now attempting to teach myself at the age of 40, have sufficiently quashed any romantic images of Loons, Deer & Bears... oh my!
Now, for those of you, as the Aussie's say, "super - spiro's" - no, I haven't picked up the Bible once and I've hardly read much from the 12 books I've brought with me. Every time I go away I always seem to bring books to read, which I usually end up forgoing for the company of my own mind. Or, maybe the downtime is the only opportunity I have to get some sort of clarity on the spokes in my life that seem to be spinning around in a blur like the wheels of my Free Spirit bike I used to ride as a kid. You know, with the banana seat and the sissy bars, no handle breaks and definitely none of the 175 fancy mountain bike gears, which seem to be mandatory today. I remember pushing that bike, without anyone on it, down a hill and the thing went for what seemed like miles, until... ah yes, the company of my own mind! It seems that my childhood learning disabilities are still lingering about, yearning for a more socially acceptable label from the great medical minds of today.
Yesterday evening, as I was laying in the hammock entranced in the unpredictable movement of the clouds above me, I entered, yet again, into my seemingly life long immature battle with the Creator. You'd think after more than 25 years of "growing in my Faith" that such infantile behavior would cease! "If you're real God, show me a sign. And I mean a real sign. Not just something I can explain away... again!"
The clouds turned dark, the thunder loomed in the distance and I grabbed the kayak and headed out for my daily Magnum P.I. paddle. There are very few things in this life that seem to perpetuate the "thinings." Thinings - those times where the distance between the Creator and His created, supernaturally, inexplicably and always annoyingly on His terms, seem to grow thin. However, extreme changes in weather patterns always bring about a certain susceptibility in my spirit, soul, being, whatever. As I head out into the foreboding storm, deep inside, a hope stirs.
I round the far side of the island and enter into Back Bay, one of three places on the globe, which instantly has a profound effect on my breathing, pulse and guttural rhythms. The sky begins to come alive with textured chaos. Dark gray swirls begin to formulate, and in my over active and easily stimulated mind, I'm sure I recognize the embryonic formation of a funnel cloud - no wait - look - up in the sky... Dorothy? Toto? The rain begins, the wind increases, and so does my pace back to the cottage. I realized that I left the front porch windows wide open.
I pull the Kayak up onto the beach, scurry back over to the dock, throw on my life jacket, grab a couple of foam noodles and dive into the warm summer lake. With my legs and head propped up by the noodles and the lifejacket keeping the bulk of middle-aged frame afloat, I gaze up to the heavens and experience one of the most amazing displays of God's Hand I have seen in a very long time. Directly above me, the ominous prelude of eerie Alfred Hitchcock like clouds continue to almost mimic the menacing surface of the lake. In front of me, about half a kilometer down the lake, multiple electronic surges from the digits of God's almighty hand pound the earth like the night skies over Iraq when the forces of "God's Country" flex their Republican muscle. And all the while to my right, the tranquility of the sun performing its daily ritual, igniting the horizon one last time before scorching the lands of a people we choose to know nothing about. Behind me, I ignore the voices of small children yelling at me to get out of the water. Apparently, my decision to float face up during this celestial light show, has proven once again, that I am indeed, not smarter than a 5th Grader!
As the rain begins to exfoliate my face and the nostrils of God begin to blow me past my comfort zone, I reluctantly head to the dock and surrender my defeat, to both my Creator and those pesky know it alls from across the water!
I spend the next several days pondering this strange juxtaposition and come to the conclusion that in hindsight, it was the thunder I heard first, which prompted me to ask God for proof of His existence, reminding me that "extreme changes in weather patterns always bring about a certain susceptibility in my spirit, soul, being, whatever." Therefore, this was not a direct answer from the Almighty to my eternal childhood question. The storm just brought it all up again!
WHAT THE...?
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