Why is it that everyone always says: the older you get, the wiser you become? I mean, hopefully it’s true to a degree, but the statement feels so inadequate. I feel more like— the older I get the more astonished I become by both the good and bad of the world. I’ve lived enough life to be overwhelmed by the giving and receiving of real love, and also with a devastation for what’s outside (and inside) of me. The more I heal and become whole, the more open my heart is to truth—the truth of the cross, truth of relationships, truth of eternity, and truth of the raw suffering happening all around me.
Maybe “wiser” = more aware of reality?
But how disappointing. I had high hopes of my time-earned wisdom looking more like an adorable old owl who felt more secure in her world because she knew what to expect and things made more sense. Quite to the contrary, my experience has been that the more I know, the more I realize I don’t know. (Such a cliché, I know… please forgive me and keep reading…)
And the more I know, the more desperately and completely I need Jesus… because frankly this life can be terrifying. Especially when you take emotional risks and put your heart out there. I think it’s simply amazing how fast we can go from seemingly unshakeable faith to a pile of fear-struck, clueless, broken rubble.
And yet, while we’re feeling defeated, collapsed in a heap on the floor, the potter sits back at His potter’s wheel with a sweet smile and says, “Ahhh, now this clay is ready to be shaped and molded the way I had planned.”
Maybe in those moments when we’re feeling weakest and like God must be so disappointed, He is actually the most satisfied with us. Maybe the more we allow ourselves to go into the space of desperation— where all we can do to survive is to stare into the eyes of Jesus— we are the closest to living out our destinies.
I’m not suggesting that we live or stay in fear or desperation at all, but it can be a powerful motivator. We can start by choosing God’s ways in moments where there is no other way, and just as a muscle strengthens with use, the more we turn to God to show us the way, the more it will become a habit rather than a response to crisis.
A little story to illustrate the point:
Our friends have an automatic deer feeder in their backyard. They love watching the speckled fawns grow each year and checking the bucks for sprouting antler buds and seeing the does’ bellies swell with new life. Promptly 15-30 minutes before the feeder goes off around sunrise and sunset each day, those deer faithfully arrive in their yard, awaiting the promise of time-tested nourishment. It’s a beautiful give and take. Our friends get to be in relationship with the deer, and the deer get fed.
I find that my journey in this world becomes easier when I adopt the routine of those deer. I stop trying to work and toil for all of my needs to be met, and instead I seek out the Source of all provision just before I get hungry for something. You know, He never lets me down. I don’t always get the exact thing I’m craving, but I never go hungry.
