Sometimes I really think God laughs at the conversations that we have. Mostly because I am so bloody stubborn that I try to talk my way out of things that I know in my heart is right. Conversations like:
“God, so, I kinda don’t want to pray about it. So, like, can we maybe skip the whole disobedience thing and try another route?”
“Can you maybe keep the light green because I have the worse acid reflux and I just want to go home.”
“I really don’t want to do this. Surely the still small voice isn’t yours I hear right?”
I’m not the fondest of lawyers but sometimes (which if defined right usually means most times) I try to negotiate my terms with God. If I do this, can you do that? Tit for tat? Quid pro quo? It never ever works for me but, it doesn’t mean I don’t keep trying because HELLO STUBBORN!!! I keep telling myself during these conversations, one day you’re going to get such a rude awakening because you just can’t listen. I’m sure every adult figure in my life has muttered that under their breath while dealing with me as a teenager.
For instance, as a teenager I once got suspended because I threw a chair at a teacher. All because I was done with my work, class was about two minutes from being over and I wanted to stand by the door instead of being like everyone else and waiting in my seat. I flew the chair to prove I didn’t have a seat. Yup, y’all thought I was sweet and innocent didn’t you? Man, I have stories of all the rotten things I did as a teenager. I’m sorry Mr. M for that, by the way. I don’t think I ever apologized for being an actual turd.
I had conversations during my suspension day with God too.
“God, you know he deserved it right? It wasn’t like I was being disruptive.”
“No, I don’t feel sorry. I have nothing to be sorry about.”
Maybe they were different conversations back in high school compared to now, but the meaning is essentially the same: when I needed to I always fought God to do what was right because I sure as heck didn’t want a path that isn’t wide enough for me to dance around and do my own thing on.
I’ve learned in my adult life that the easiest route is rarely the right route. The easy route often times gets you disappearing in the forest because you saw a pretty flower, or a huge hollowed tree, or the footprints of an animal. The easy route creates a “smaller view” of a problem and a greater distance from the solution. The easy route is talking to God and trying to find a crack or crevice from His plan so you don’t have to go through the growth that is usually required to get where He leads.
The problem with that? What we see as the easiest route is the hardest route of all.
Step in faith for a miracle? “Naw, God, I’m not about to fall off that cliff.” So I don’t step out in faith and I fall off the cliff anyway because the step He wanted me to take was 6″ down and I couldn’t see it.
Tell your story? “Haha, God you want the world to see my brokenness?” So I don’t and I neglect to see how God could use me to heal someone else.
Give so and so this amount of money. “Are you serious, Lord!? I can’t afford something like that! You’re crazy!” So I hold onto the money and miss a hundred fold blessing because I saw God as too small.
Getting the point here?
I can talk in circles with God – or anyone – on why my thought process is right, especially when I don’t want to do something. But, if there is anything I’ve learned about my conversations is He won’t force me to do anything. He won’t force me to receive a blessing. I make the choice to take what God has provisioned for me. My issue is I’ve grown so accustomed to leaning on myself that I find it hard to lean on Him.
I’m so worried about the rain ruining my hair instead of seeing how the rain waters my growth. And that is the biggest problem. Will I still have conversations seeing if God might change His mind? Probably. But, I’m beginning to understand that without rain nothing grows, so maybe I should be embracing the storms? Maybe instead of questioning the route I instead say, “Lord, I’ll do it, just give me the strength to keep stepping.”
I mean, what could it hurt? It’s not like I’ve done a pretty banged up job on my own. xoxo