I made a decision last week. I’ve never been one to support
resolutions, but after reading The
Happiness Project, I’ve resolved to abandon my cynicism and even discovered
that New Year’s Eve is my favorite holiday of the year. The truth is that I
love reading everyone’s social media comments about gratitude, reflection, and plans
for the future. I even love the cheesy shows, like watching a giant ball drop
in a crowded, freezing city street, and listening to crummy bands play on the
television screen as everyone in the crowd dances like wannabe strippers. My
favorite show this year, though, was a review of YouTube’s most popular videos
and crazes from the year. We are an odd species, and I appreciate that. I know,
without any hesitation, that there is a wealth of darkness in the world, and
this is the one time of the year when, collectively, we seem to take a deep
breath of hope and turn the other cheek to darkness. It’s also nice to get a
kiss at midnight.
So what will I resolve to do in 2014? Well, I’ve made a
list, and much of it has to do with Eric, but one of the things has to do with
this blog too (we’ll see what happens). The most precious thing to me, however,
is my resolution to finish more books. I didn’t care much for reading as a
teenager, even though I started reading at a young age, so when I decided to
make a Pinterest board to memorialize all of the books I’ve actually delved
into cover to cover, I was saddened
by the shallow pile. I read a lot, but I tend to abandon books for the newer,
shinier cover with the flashier title—I am always searching for the greatest intellectual
high. I need to work on savoring.
The hardest thing to face now is that The Bible is not on my
Pinterest board.
I don’t think I would have felt much about this before John
Mark Comer delivered his “with-ness” sermon on the Sunday before Christmas
week. Before, I believed—in all honesty—that “finishing” the Holy Book was more
like a Christian initiation project, or an item on a Christian to-do list that
would have no return other than protecting me from the shame of being found
out. I wasn’t only afraid of what other Christians would think of me (it has
been almost 10 years that I have been following Jesus), but I was more afraid
of what intellectual non-religious friends might think. I am inclined to
believe that they might find it more appealing to befriend a girl with God in
her head and heart, rather than the God of the scriptures in her brain. They might
also think that “finishing” the Bible would set me straight; the problem with
that is that I’ve read most of it, and I know how messed up it can be. Yet, my
love for Jesus is genuine—it’s not merely in my head and my heart—and I always
find that the toughest of biblical moments can lead me to stronger faith, even
when I think that there can be no reassurance for the obstacles I face and
questions I ask.
Ultimately, I desire with-ness. What if John Mark is right?
What if the scriptures are primarily used for spending time with God? What if
when I read I can find myself in a room of my own—a place where Jesus meets me
and spends time with me and reminds me of the sweetness of his presence. I hate
doing the dishes, but somehow, if Eric and I do them together, the entire task
is transformed. I realize now that I’ve always approached the Word of God as a
textbook to be studied, understood, challenged, and defended. I’ve even treated
it as a Magic-8 Ball of sorts, filled with fantastical stories and written
words of wisdom from Jesus that I can use to fine-tune my path and color the
world new with narrative and meaning.
I’ve never seen the pages of the Bible as a place—its pages are
open and I can hear God whispering, come
sit with me.
In the beginning, God made us. He put us in a garden, and I
wish I were there now where man and woman could stand naked and unashamed along
with all of the animals we named. God told us not to eat from the Tree of
Knowledge of Good and Evil; instead, he gave us His presence and He asked us to
trust Him for all of this knowledge—to believe that He could be our all-knowing
guide in matters of right and wrong. Our friend and counselor. Our Father. But
the thought of being forever children—innocent and reliant upon our Father in
matters of good and evil—was too much to bear. So we traded His presence for
the apple, the 10 commandments, and a new order. We became the captains of our ships, the masters of our souls.
Can I steer this ship towards you My God? Can I resolve to
savor each and every page of your text in the midst of your presence and live
the rest of my days knowing what it means to be with you?
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