The more I read in Scripture, the more aware I become of how desperate we truly are for His presence.
A few weeks ago, I told you about the conviction I felt to get back into a Bible reading plan. Let me just tell you – that is the best part of my day. I wake up eager to meet with Him, and not just from a place of desperation, although the more I read, the more aware I become of how desperate we truly are for His presence.
God is reaffirming the mission in every morning meeting. Not by barking orders at me as some kind of Jesus drill sergeant. But with a daily revealing of His character through His word. And with a whisper so gentle and quiet that I can only hear it with my heart, He speaks:
This is bigger than you. Bigger than your perspective. Bigger than I’ve equipped you to see. And if I showed you the vastness of what I’m doing, it would cripple you. So please trust me. In your hurt, in your frustration, in your unmet desire for explanation… in your frailty, trust me. It’s bigger than you.
How can we entertain eternity when all we’ve known in life is a series of endings?
And He is bigger than I know. Bigger than what I read on these well-worn pages. Bigger than you know. More powerful. More loving. More perfect than we can ever imagine. And how could we when everything we have ever known in our earthly lives is fallible and broken? How can we entertain eternity when all we’ve known in life is a series of endings?
That’s not to say we should live in defeat and abandon our efforts to know Him; instead, we should seek to eradicate our curiosity by devoting ourselves to communion with Him.
I’m currently reading through Exodus – which means I’m also starting to see a whole lot of Israelite tendencies in my own life. I’ve made it through chapter 16, and at this point in the story, the Israelites have survived all the plagues, made it out of Egypt and salvery, crossed the Red Sea on dry ground, tasted the bitter-turned-sweet waters of Marah, and been nourished by bread of heaven.
Miracle after miracle. You’d think that would be enough to trust God to supply their every need, right?
He was the Good Shepherd then; He is the Good Shepherd now. He was victorious then, He is victorious now.
Wrong. And I’m oddly comforted by that fact. Because it seems that I’m just as forgetful as the Israelites. I don’t want to be, but I am. I can make it through a struggle or a difficult season of life, and come out praising God for proving to be trustworthy in my darkest nights. But inevitably, night falls again – this time even darker than before – and suddenly I’m not convinced that He’s going to bring me through.
Is the situation different? Yes.
Am I different? Maybe.
Is He different? No. He was the Good Shepherd then; He is the Good Shepherd now. He was victorious then, He is victorious now.
I know these things to be true, just as the Israelites knew them to be true. That’s why I get so hung up on their story (which is a lot like ours, if we’re honest). Throughout Scripture, we see the stories of Exodus and Numbers recalled, but this one passage in Psalm 106 got me this week:
The people refused to enter the pleasant land, for they wouldn’t believe his promise to care for them. Instead, they grumbled in their tents and refused to obey the Lord. Psalm 106:24-25 NLT
Refused. That’s some strong language. Refused implies intention. They didn’t just struggle; they refused. They would not believe His promise to care for them.
Instead, they grumbled. I’ve grumbled. Even as I’ve prayed for the pleasant land, I’ve grumbled. As I’ve declared my trust in His promises, I’ve grumbled. As I’ve asked for the promised land, I’ve grumbled. Chime in anytime, guys… is this just me and the Israelites? You, too?
What will be written about my story? About your story? About our story?
Grumbling can be sneaky. It doesn’t have to be obvious. Notice how the Psalm says “in their tents.” They stayed put. In a shelter of their own making, hidden from anyone else who might dare to contradict their perspective, and they complained.
Have you ever vented to someone, in the name of unburdening your heart (not inherently bad, but we should always be cautious in these scenarios), and they respond by sharing a similar situation? Their heart is to connect with you and relate to you, but your response is “You just don’t know what it’s like!” or something to that effect.
Metaphorically speaking, you just went inside your tent, and you’re probably grumbling in your heart.
But what else were they doing in the tent? Refusing to obey the Lord. There’s that word again. Refuse. An unwillingness to accept God’s direction, and therefore, His provision. Ultimately, His promise.
But I want to focus on another word in this passage: instead. They would not believe; instead, they grumbled and refused to obey. This is the summary of the story of God’s people – written many chapters and many years after it occurred.
Let’s choose Him instead of us. After all, this story started before us, and it is bigger than all of us.
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