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Sunday, January 31, 2010

One of the Chosen Few

Sometimes knowing too much can be more of a curse than a blessing. I'm one of the chosen few. . .

I first stepped onto this campus as a very bewildered 18-year old. Struggling to make sense of my parents’ separation and ultimate divorce, attempting to fit into yet another culture that was so foreign to all the ones I had previously lived in, I was inundated with an experience that did not allow me time to process very necessary emotions, thoughts, and feelings. I skipped the questioning young adult years and left college carefully and thoroughly brainwashed into an outwardly submissive and yet inwardly rebellious product of the system. Religion and every aspect of my behaviour was presented to me in a neat package, already assembled, and I was expected to assume the garb of the graduate who now knew all things and could go on to teach others what I had learned.

Now, 11 years later, I am beginning my journey towards truth.

How can you love a God you do not know? How can you know a God if you cannot trust Him? If God is a God of love, why does He allow such horrible things to happen? These and other questions have filled my waking moments as personal experiences start flying at me out of nowhere. The innocence of childhood is long gone and now I need to understand for myself why things happened and who God really is.

When I stop to think about it, the God I see in my head is a contradictory God. I call Him Father, but I don’t trust Him to protect me. I know logically that He will not keep evil from attacking me, whether through disease, fear, pain, or death. I don’t know whether He is unable to or whether He chooses not to, but regardless of the semantics, I know that Christians are not immune to sin’s consequences, even if their own behaviour is stellar.

Maybe reality is that we have to keep fighting to see the light, otherwise we may be swallowed up in darkness. Maybe we have to battle to know who God is, and maybe we have to demand that He bless us. Maybe God does not come peacefully; maybe He comes in like a warrior and captures our hearts with His strength. Maybe He gives us the freedom to throw away everything we have ever known and start building a tower with coloured blocks. Maybe He understands our confusion, frustration, anger, and fear and provides a safe place for us to come when the pain threatens to overwhelm. Maybe He cries with us, with an aching heart that longs to reveal His love and soothe the wounds that run raw. Maybe. . .

I’m not exactly sure. You see, I know too much. I know exactly how I should walk, talk, dress, sing, study, and pray. I know when I should drink, exercise, sleep, and work. I know what I should learn, read, listen to, watch, and eat. I know where I should worship, serve, fellowship, and witness. I know all these things, because I’ve been trained well. There’s only one thing I haven’t yet learned.

I don’t know Who I love. . .

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