Peanut butter with God

If God liked peanut butter I imagine we'd sit at the table I used to when I was a kid where my mom used to slather peanut butter in a tortilla and roll it up for me as a snack. We would probably sit and talk about peanut butter and life and faith. He'd probably say that He likes Peter Pan Chunky, to which I would shake my head, and tell Him that Skippy creamy was the way to go.

"I think I know which is better Dan, I am God and all," He'd say.

"I think you may be wrong on this one," I'd reply.

"Dan, I sort of MADE peanuts I think I know the best mode unto which they should be creamed."

"You always gotta pull that out don't you," I'd reply, and He'd probably just laugh. But then He'd want to know how my heart was, and I'd squirm around for a bit. I'd tell Him that He already knew, but He'd say that He wanted me to tell Him anyway, and I'd grab my jar of peanut butter and play with it as I talked so I wouldn't have to look at Him while I spoke.

My ex and I recently parted, and with her most of my life, and in a way my identity. I know, I get it, our identity isn't in this world, but old habits die hard. We met shortly after I found Christ and I had abandoned my old friends, old habits and old life. Her life was easily taped over mine, and so my community, what I was is gone, and at 29 I feel like I'm starting over again. Most people my age have their communities, wives, husbands, children, maybe even a steady career. This isn't to say I want a wife or kids right now, but I feel alone again, and again I'm starting over.

Sarah was my confident voice. I've never been good at meeting people, talking about myself, she was the mediator between me and the world, and in her I found a lot of self confidence, but at the same time I felt that a lot of the credit that I was getting wasn't earned. I used to sit and talk with pastors, midrash about bible issues, have lunch with seminary professors, I even lead a men's bible study, but I could never shake the feeling that I was put in those places not because they knew what I was capable of but because she was a respected Pastor and so the assumption was that her other half probably had to be worth his salt if he was dating her. I felt I had gotten my ticket to the top without trying. Part of me longed to know that I was worth something without her, that God could use me with out her as the vehicle.

To be sure, Sarah and I parted for multiple reasons, but in so doing, I got my wish. The life I had went with her and I find myself unknown, unsure and voiceless again. But at the same time I struggle with being known: all of my brokenness on the table for people to look at, all my 'me' on display; even with Sarah, the prerogative of the 'pastor's wife' was to keep people at someone what of an arms length and in that was a bit of safety.

I wasn't happy with the community I was in, at best they seemed to have an anomial faith, 'sin' (a dirty word in that group) was something which wasn't talked about, and the idea of conviction was just as unsavory. I wanted something more. I now find my self with people that do care, that do want more, and yet I struggle with the requirement to be vulnerable, because actually caring means being accountable and transparent. I twist and turn trying to hold on to what I want my life to be like, I hold my fists tight unwilling to let go completely, only one or the other, but I know that isn't how it works. I feel like Eustace watching painfully as my scales are scraped and torn off of me. But I suppose, that is how we become.

"You know, when a peanut sits on it's tree it doesn't know that someday it will be smashed and ground down into something this delicious and wonderful, but I do," God would say, holding up a spoon. I'd nod and put the jar down in front of me.

"But, I also don't think peanuts know much of anything anyway, being a peanut and all," I'd retort, smiling.

"See, I also knew you'd grow up to be a smart ass," God would laugh, then He'd probably pass me His jar of Peter Pan Chunky Peanut Butter and say, "Just try it, Dan, you might actually like it."