Satisfaction in a Season of Silence

Searching, seeking, praying, wandering, looking, screaming….these words are what I would use to attempt to explain my current walk with God. I am searching for him; I am seeking him; I am praying for guidance; I am wandering; I am looking for him everywhere I can; I am screaming out to him for answers. However, I cannot scream any longer. I cannot search any longer. I cannot look any longer. These things only make me weary, and I experienced the effects of this weariness this past summer. I do not want to go there again. So, I have evaluated my efforts to hear God’s calling on my life, but not only my distant future. I want answers about the near future, like what to do during spring break, what classes to take, what PCM to change to, and what church to settle into as my home church. Anyhow, like I said, I needed to re-evaluate and figure out wherein the error lies.

When I was explaining my desperate situation to a good, (British) ☺ friend, I told her how I was earnestly and consistently praying about these issues. She listened intently like she does, and she replied to me, “Kel, I know you’ve been praying, but have you spent time listening?” Unfortunately, I could not respond with the most desirable answer. I had been praying, but I had certainly not been listening. I had never distinguished the two actions. And so, I decided to make an extra effort to listen to God.

Of course, I ran into a slight problem. I realized I don’t know how to listen to God. I close my eyes, and I attempt to clear my mind of every thing. Every single thing. Somehow, different voices always pop into my complicated and complex mind. I ask God to speak to me, and I hear one voice say something, so I ask, “God is that you or is that me?” And then I hear the opposite of what the other voice just said. Then, I ask the question again, and I hear the original answer. It is ridiculous. I know it is just my own mind conjuring ideas and responses up in my mind. I don’t know how to listen to God, and I don’t know how to hear God.

Granted, I have heard God pretty blatantly in my life...in his Creation, in music, in books, in movies, in conversations, in other people. I have heard him in those ways, but for the questions I am asking now, I have not heard anything concrete in any of those ways. And so, I have been trying to simply listen during the times I set aside to be alone with him. But, apparently, I don’t know how to listen. I am slightly ashamed to even be saying this. I have been a Christian for years, and I don’t know how to listen to and hear God in the silence? What is that? I should be much farther along than this.

Regardless of my shame or where I should be at this point in my faith, I am not hearing God. Possibly, I am not listening intently enough. Or maybe I am not seeking him as earnestly as I should. Or perhaps (and I am almost convinced of this), for some unknown and frustrating reason, God is choosing to be silent in my life. If this is the case, it really frustrates me, because it seems like when I am trying to learn how to listen to him and hear him, he should help me in the process of learning this essential piece of my faith, and speak to me.

So, what do I do? Because, honestly, it is breaking my heart. I want to hear from him. I want to have a more personal relationship with him, where I can hear him speak to me when I call him. I want to reach a higher level in my walk with him. But he chooses to be silent at the very time when I want to learn how to listen to him? Why?

No one can know. He is God. He is, “I AM.” Who can fight that? Who can argue with that? I know I can’t. So, I’m not questioning his plan for me. I’m not questioning his faithfulness and his love. I am only longing to hear from him, and it is frustrating me that I do not know how to listen to him, and that he is not helping me in this endeavor to better my faith. But moaning and groaning about it like I have been for the past six or seven paragraphs is not going to help me in any way.

This is what it comes down to for me right now, there is a song called, “Breathing” sung by who is only one of the GREATEST bands in history—Lifehouse. If you have never heard them, you have not lived. Anyway, one of the lines in the second verse goes like this:

I'm looking past the shadows
Of my mind into the truth and
I'm trying to identify
The voices in my head
God, which one's you?

This identifies how I feel. I am trying to figure out which voice is God, if he is even speaking to me at all. But then, the writer goes on to say this in the chorus:

‘Cause I am hanging on every word you’re saying,
And even if you don’t wanna speak tonight,
That’s alright, alright with me.
‘Cause I want nothing more
Than to sit outside Heaven’s door,
And listen to you breathing,
Is where I want to be.

So, as I listen to these beautiful lyrics, I picture the writer, on his knees, listening intently and desperately longing to hear God’s voice, yet to no avail. I feel the writer’s emptiness and anxiety in only…wanting…to hear God. That is all he wants. But since he cannot hear him, he will be content with “sitting outside Heaven’s door, and listen to you breathing.” He is okay with being near to God, whether or not he can actually feel God there with him in the silence or in the midst of other voices. And he is okay with just simply, listening to God’s breath. If he can’t hear God’s voice, whatever form God’s voice will take on in his mind, he can be satisfied with only hearing God breathe. I am there. Though I desperately want to hear God, and though I desperately want to know how to listen to him and hear him in return, I am okay with sitting near my Lord, and listening to his breath—whatever that may be. Maybe it is the wind, as cliché as that my sound. But really, it isn’t that cliché; I do believe that you can “hear” God or “feel” him in the wind. “Ruach” is the Hebrew word for “spirit,” “wind,” “breath,” and “air.” I believe that I have had encounters with the Holy Spirit through the wind. And maybe that was God’s “breath.” Or maybe hearing God “breathe” is just sitting back and knowing that he is near, and he is working. And somehow, he will make it clear to you what your next step is before you fail miserably. I can’t doubt God. And to expect him to speak to me in the silence just because I want to learn how to listen to him there, is to limit him. God is bigger than that. He is EVERYTHING.

The song then goes on to say:

I don’t want a thing from you,
Bet you’re tired of me waiting
For the scraps to fall off of your table to the ground,
I just want to be here now.

God has no obligation to speak to me. He has no obligation to love me or to do anything for me, so, even though I cannot hear him momentarily, I am still terribly grateful for the fact that he allows me to be near to him. He shares a relationship with me. And that is enough. He will take care of me. So, I’ll just sit under your table, God. I’ll sit here and wait for you. It is frustrating, but I know you will take care of me.

In conclusion, I still want to hear him speak to me. I want him to make these other voices in my head cease. I want his voice to echo through my mind and reverberate off the walls, and be so clear that there would be no ounce of doubt whether it was him or not. But what can I do? Nothing. He will speak to me however he wishes. And that is his perfect plan, and it is for my benefit. Thus, for as long as necessary, I will be content with being near him, only to hear him breathe. I will cease screaming and wandering and searching. I will continue to shake the other voices and attempt to listen and hear God. I trust that he is working and teaching me something. He is Faithful. He will speak. I will wait. And at least I get to wait with him sitting right next to me.

Love for the Ungrateful

So, one of the requirements as a student at Moody is attending a Practical Christian Ministry (PCM) once a week. You are only allowed one cut, with no make-ups required. If you cut again because of illness, you have to complete two make-ups. If you cut a second time for a reason other than sickness, you have to complete SEVEN make-ups. Moral of the story is: Don’t cut your PCM!

Anyway, choices for a PCM vary. You can tutor kids, work with the homeless, work with a youth group, serve at a church, the list continues. After your freshman year, you are even allowed to request your own PCM. My friend Katie and I are thinking about setting one up with a hospital where we can go spend time with terminally ill children. Anyway, when you are a freshman, the PCM office places you in your first PCM—you don’t get to choose. When I was told my PCM would be serving at a homeless shelter, I was ecstatic. I thought it would be awesome to minister to the homeless. It was exactly what I thought I would love. Boy, was I wrong.

To make a long story short, I basically show up at this homeless shelter, serve food, do dishes, sweep, mop, clean tables, and leave. The people that run the place—cooks, regular volunteers, employees, etc…are not very happy people, it seems. They are not mean, but they just don’t seem like the type of person that would serve at a soup kitchen. They don’t seem to have the volunteer’s heart. Also, the place just reeks. It smells like vomit mixed with rotten eggs or something. Fortunately, it only smells like that in the “dishes” room, and I haven’t been doing the dishes lately. Many of you know how sensitive I am to certain smells, though…how they make me gag uncontrollably and what not. Oh, and just a few weeks ago, as I was putting on my apron, what falls out of the pocket onto my clothes? A COCKROACH. I muted my disgust and initial urge to scream. I was mortified. I carefully checked the other pockets, but no roaches were to be found. Luckily. I check every week now. So, that gives you a slice of what this place is like. After my first two weeks, I had a terrible attitude. I dreaded going (I still don’t really look forward to going). So, I began to pray that God would change my heart for these people. I prayed that he would help me see their needs and just be able to serve them selflessly, no matter the circumstances. The more I prayed for God to change my heart, the more I felt like I needed to serve at the shelter.

Most of the families consist of a mother who is too young to have five kids, a father who doesn’t give a rip about his family, and kids who have no concept of what a family or what real love is. Many of the families are also single mothers, younger than me sometimes, with two to five kids. I’m guessing they probably all have different “baby daddies.” My heart breaks for these people. That is what kept me going back at first (that and the fact that I can’t change my PCM until next semester).

So, as I have dwelt on the bad attitudes of the regular workers, I began to realize that maybe their attitudes stem from the ungrateful people they serve every day. I mean, you would think the homeless people who come through the shelter are the richest, snobbiest people in the world. They act like the world is theirs; they act like they own the shelter; they act like nothing matters but them; they treat us like dirt. I was shocked. They have no right to treat me like that, when I am volunteering my time to come serve them every week! That is how I felt, initially. Seriously, these kids run around like they own the place; they throw all of their food and dishes on the floor. They scream; they demand more dessert; they demand tin foil and cups of ice and plastic bags. (I would like to say, there are some extremely grateful men and women there who thank us every week, and treat us with respect. I respect them greatly in return.) I would never hit a child, but more often than not, I just want to smack these kids and tell them to be more polite and thoughtful; however, they are not to blame for their behavior. But really, the cafeteria, after dinner is served, looks like all of the trays were piled with food, and then a tornado came through—leaving a mess of chili and rice, fruit and veggies, spilt milk, and plastic cups strewn all over the floor, tables, and chairs. The people don’t clean up after their kids or themselves. I loathe their ungratefulness.

I usually come out to wipe down the tables and sweep and mop the floor before many of them leave. As I walk around, taking my time so that I don’t have to do the dishes (hehe), sweeping torn Styrofoam cups, mounds of chili, fruit and cookies into the portable trash bin, thing (That was profound) they continue to scream profanely at each other, dropping more food on the ground—completely disregarding my attempts to clean their messes. Every time we make eye contact, I try my best to smile, but many times I found it terribly difficult.

Anyway, this is getting long, so I will cut to the chase. Last week, I was feeling nauseous and only wanted to get back to campus. I was moving slowly because of my upset stomach, and I was listening to a young husband getting all wound up about his wife who was upset about a sugar bowl or something. I never really got the gist of the story, but I do know that he was completely overreacting. I listened to him rant for about a half hour while I swept. I thought I was going to explode. However, I kept sweeping, taking deep breaths—attempting to prevent any vomit from coming up to say hello. I succeeded! ☺ While I walked down the aisles, moving chairs, and sweeping under tables, meditating on the peoples’ ungratefulness, I had an epiphany! I immediately felt disgust for my bad attitude, and my ill feelings for the homeless peoples’ attitudes.

What I realized is that the way these people treat me and the other volunteers and workers, while we are only there to serve them and provide them with food—essential to live—is basically the equivalent to how God is treated every day by his children. God provides us every single day and night, with what we need and more. He blesses us more than we know, every day. And what do I give him in return? Many times it’s, “Oh, I need to spend some time with God…but I also need to have this paper done by tomorrow morning…gosh I really shouldn’t have spent an hour on facebook and whatnot just now…hmm, well, I mean, my grades depend on this paper….so, I guess, ‘God, I promise I’ll set aside extra time for you tomorrow.’” Really, Kelly? I am really going to complain about these people, when I treat God so much worse? I serve these people because I have to, and because I care about a few of them. God provides me with what I need because of his unfathomable love for me. I have no right to claim his love for me. I have no right for him to call me his own. Yet, he does. I frequently compromise my time with him, but he continues to draw me back to himself and prove his love for me. He continually takes me back into his arms. And I continually fight my way out of his embrace, when in reality, his embrace is all I need.

So, where do I get off complaining about others’ ungratefulness for my service, when I ignore God's provision for me? It is my duty to serve others, just as Christ served us and paid our way to freedom. Whether people appreciate my service or not, I have to complete my work with a servant’s heart and a smile. God never denies us what we need. He is faithful. Sometimes, these people really hurt me, because of the way they look at me, when I am only trying to help them. How much more am I hurting my God? My God who sacrificed his ONLY son for me. My God who for some unknown reason, cares for and loves me like his own child. In fact, I am just that. I am his child. I hurt him and break his heart every day. And that, my friends, breaks my heart.

And so, just as he continues to love me, despite my ungratefulness, I am going to make a conscious effort to serve the homeless people out of selfless love. I want to serve them whether they appreciate it or not. Besides, you never know who is observing you, and I don’t want any of them to see a scowl on my face just because I am cleaning up their mess. I am there to serve them, under any circumstances. That is what I am called to do. That is what I am going to do. I love them despite their attitudes. When my dad would ask me to go do something for him, whether I would complain or not, he would say, "Kel, you have such a servant's heart." If I was complaining, he was being sarcastic--trying to make me laugh. If I completed my task cheerfully, he was being serious. I want to work cheerfully. I want to have a true servant's heart. And my heart is changed now. God answered my prayer, and at the same time he opened my eyes to the way I treat him. God, I am striving to serve you with a smile and good heart. I love my God, my faithful God.