Stuck at the Gate

Ever since I was saved, I think I've felt like I've been stuck at the gate. I've had this image of me sitting on a race horse waiting behind metal barriers as I've watched others take off down the fairway, with God standing at the release button. I'd look down at my horse, and he'd shrug back at me, and I'd stand on the saddle in my tight pants and silly hat waving at God trying to get His attention that He had forgotten about me, that I was ready and willing to go. God would just sit there waving back, mouthing something to me that I couldn't understand.

My heart longs to go out and do something, to live for Him in some real and meaningful way, but I've felt the burden of directionlessness for sometime as well as standing with empty pockets and empty resources, and as my academic career comes to an end I sometimes feel like I'm stepping out over the precipice into uncertainty.

In my heart, ever since I was young I've longed to do something great. I guess I always felt that there was something specific reason I was here and some reason that God had called me to Him, but I get lost in the tedium of daily life and the uncertainty which stands before me and fear that I may never amount to anything.

My father and I share this trait. He came to this country when he was 19 and went to college always striving for the next great thing. He wanted to be a fighter pilot, but couldn't, he wanted to be a lawyer but was unable, he wanted to start a business but it didn't work out. In the end, he lost his job when I was 10 and never worked again. It was hard on him, and my family, and I think for the better part of his life from that point on He felt like God had abandon him and that he was a failure. I hate to say it, but until my mid 20's I felt the same about him as well, a failure, and I feared being him.

It wasn't until just before I came to Christ that I let a lot of the anger go that I had been holding onto about my dad, and it wasn't until I realized the pangs of my own fears that I began to appreciate the depression he carried with him for the better part of my life. I realize, though, he didn't fail. No, he couldn't bring home a pay check, but he woke up every morning with my mom to help her get ready for work. He made us all lunches and dinner when we got home, my mom was usually too tired, she began working over time until she retired in order to keep us afloat. I know my dad hurt, and I think he probably hurt daily watching his wife carry the burden of working endlessly to support our family, but coming to Christ I began to see the grace that was in this time of his life. I don't know who my dad would have been if he had been a lawyer or a fighter pilot or a business owner, but I know who he was as a man who lost his job, he was a man who even in feeling abandon by God continued to pray every day and take us to church every Sunday. He was a man who swallowed his pride, and though coming from a very patriarchal society lived as a House Dad.  He is a good and honorable man.

I don't know if we have chosen paths in life, something which God is always herding us towards. I mean, I've heard both sides, and it seems that there is no way to really know. I know that I love my dad despite what happened in his life and in conjunction, what happened to mine, and I'm proud of the man that he is.

I suppose what God is mouthing to me is that I'm not standing at the gate waiting for Him to hit the button, that it doesn't work that way. Ann Lamott once wrote how when she and her son moved into a bigger house when he was a young boy his room moved across the house. Frightened he would sleep on her floor and every night slowly scooch closer towards his own room, sometimes forward, and sometimes it was too much and he'd end up a few scooches back, but ever gaining confidence towards his ability to move to where he was going as the weeks pressed on. Maybe our walk is more like that. Oswald Chambers wrote that God's goal is in our process, not the end of the race. We are molded as we work and move along the floor in our pajamas heading across the living room.

I can't help but think of Abraham on his way to Canaan, and all the things that happened along the way. His giving up his wife to the pharaoh because he didn't trust that God would protect him, and his pleading with God to save Lot. Always learning more to trust, always learning the parts of him that weren't right with God that needed to be. I'm also stuck thinking of the Israelites wandering through the desert on their way to the Promised Land, where God let a generation who didn't trust Him die out so that a new one would follow Him to fight for what He had promised them. I can't help but feel it is this journey along the way where God asks us to let those doubts and fears die as we continue to follow Him. Ever scooching, ever learning to trust more. But as for the Israelites, and Ann Lamott's son the journey doesn't end at Canaan or at the new bedroom, the lights don't fade to black and the credits role, it's just a continuation of where we are headed. New trials, new times to trust, new searches for Him.

No, I know I'm not stuck at the gate, rather, I'm just scooching, ever so slightly towards Him.