We may hate it. We may reject it. We may turn our backs to it. But by golly, there is something powerful in it that, when push comes to shove, the deepest parts of our heart cannot deny. Even demons know the truth. They shudder - for it is powerful, too powerful to contain or understand.
The truth has been engraved on our hearts and yet we forget.
Or maybe we ignore.
We doubt but do not deny, for doubt is a question and disbelief is a statement.
I spend a lot of time questioning.
The last time I talked to my biological grandmother was Christmas. The time before that was graduation. The time before that was sophomore year of high school. Yet I talked to her again a few days ago on my biological mother's cell phone (that's another story for another day). Our conversation went a little something like this:
"Hello, how are you doing?"
"I'm fine. How are you?"
"I'm doing alright. How's school?"
"It's alright. Classes haven't started yet."
"You know, why don't you become a doctor so you can help us?"
"Because I'm becoming a social worker so I can help you."
"You think we need a social worker? You think we are those kinds of people?"
"Everybody needs a good social worker."
"Well. Do you want to talk to your mother again?"
That's been the only conversation we've had since I started school. The shame of me fighting for the dignity of the tax collectors of our time (my grandmother "could not deal with such lowly people" and does not want me to bear their burdens, either). The selfishness of me following my calling instead of obtaining a career that would pull my family out of poverty. The wastefulness of getting a degree that may help hundreds, but would leave me perpetually bourgeois.
My mother came on the line. Our usual conversation occurred again:
"How's California?"
"It's nice. Kind of hot right now."
"Why don't you come back to Florida?"
"Because I like it here."
"We miss you. Come back to your family."
"I need to be here."
"You could go to Embry Riddle."
"I'm not interested in aeronautics."
"You could go to school here for free."
"I need to be at APU."
It's been hard, to say the least.
These are the days when I cry out, "Lord! Did I make the right choice? Did I listen to Your Voice?"
I talked to my biological father (I've been on a roll with contacting the family this summer). He sang a new song, a song that was so fresh and needed and beautiful and longed for:
"I want you to be able to have a nice life. Where you can go out to eat three times a week and have a big flat screen television."
"Those aren't the things I want in life."
"I know. But I want you to have the option."
"I cannot, in good standing, have all of those nice things and know that there are people without food. I want to live simply so that I may live generously."
"I know. And I have accepted that. I want you to be happy in whatever you do."
"I love social work. I love what I am doing."
"And I support you. I'm working on getting your mother on board, too."
It was only when I stopped seeking after the daughter my father wanted and started running after the daughter my Father created that my two fathers met. I don't think my dad knows that when his lips uttered those words he was kissing my Creator, acknowledging that the one who Made me knows more than the one conceived me.
But he was.
He heard truth. He saw it, he spoke it, and now he tries to share it with others and yet has no idea where the truth is coming from.
Sometimes I doubt that I made the right decision to move to California. The school I attend is not one anybody had expected for me. It's not prestigious. It's not academically intense. It's not cheap. It's not conveniently located or affordable or brag-worthy or making headlines or something Gramma can be proud of.
But it's mine.
It's the Lord's.
And I love it.
These are the moments when the Lord calls back in reply, "Hold on to the things which you knew to be true, my child. Remember the moment when I first told you to go. Cherish that moment and never forget it."
When my heart is heavy and my spirit is doubting, I run back to the truth - the burning, sure, beautiful truth that I felt and knew with my whole soul.
I run back to the journal entries that are so raw, crying out for the Lord's guidance and provision. I flip a couple of pages over and find the Lord's answer, His assurance and faithfulness. An Ebeneezer of paper and ink, bound by a spiral wire.
I run back to the prayers I prayed and the hope that I laid before my God who answered without a doubt. I recall the desperate pleas of "Lord, make it obvious, for I am slow to understand and too stubborn to obey." I see the mirage of events that followed, carrying me with sweaty palms and a racing heart out to where I am now.
It's the truth that sets us free from this doubt, this fear, and this worry.
I ran my budget last spring. I crunched the numbers until I wasn't sure my calculator could handle it. Then I did it again, making sure all of the decimals were in the right place and enough zeros were to be found. I had done the impossible, and cried out to God in thankfulness that I would not need any loans for the coming year. I would have extra. And for a fleeting moment I grieved that I wouldn't have to trust the Lord every month to provide in crazy ways for my every need.
Then I bought a car and lost my job. In that order.
Pride and planning always come before the fall.
My stomach churned as I crunched numbers again and again and again, hoping that I would find a stray decimal or too many zeros in the outgoing column and not enough in the incoming. It was to no avail. I kept calm, carried on, and cried out again to the Lord. And it was at the stoplight of Citrus and Alosta that God said so simply "Would you trust me if I had you take out a loan? I will provide in four years' time. Do you trust me until then?" My heart stopped for a moment because I knew the answer and yet couldn't admit it to the One who knows all of my thoughts.
Needing approval and assurance, I called on a sweet mentor.
"I really just need you to tell me that I'm not ruining my life by taking out this loan."
"Well, loans will ruin your life. It is true."
"That is not the reaction I wanted."
"You have two options. Take out the loan or go to a different school."
"I am supposed to be here."
"Then the Lord will provide for the loan."
And it was that which I needed to hear.
It wasn't affirmation that a loan was a good idea - it was the belief and faith in a God who keeps His promises. That simple reminder of a single statement of truth, a statement which I knew so well and knew so dearly and had clung to so tightly was all I needed to be told.
The Lord provides and the Lord guides.
Teach me your way, LORD, that I may rely on your faithfulness; give me an undivided heart, that I may fear your name.
Psalm 86:11
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