School Days

Take a trip down memory lane with me. When I was a child, probably around six years old, my family was driving across the country on a vacation of some sort. It was a long drive, and hot, and boring. Who knows what got into me, but I was fussy. I slid nearly off my seat next to the wall of the car and began to whine and fake-cry and claim I was stuck, and “somebody pleease heeeelp me!” My sister tried to pull me back into my seat a few times, but what I really wanted was for my parents to do something (although what I don’t know). I must’ve kept this up for at least half an hour. We were in the middle of nowhere, and my parents were really frustrated by this time. My dad turned his head around to give me a sharp reprimand, and I remember my mom looking ahead of the car and shrieking. We hit a sheep. Suddenly quite “unstuck” and subdued, I meekly slid back into my seat and remained quiet the rest of the drive (I assume).

Back in the present, I knew I’d been complaining and whining a lot lately, but I’ve just realized how pathetic it all was. For the past three years and more, My Lord has been gently wooing me various places, and making me feel loved, and then introducing new and exciting things. So many gifts, just for me! I was previously so paralyzed with fear I couldn’t be moved except by coaxing. But now…I’m feeling quite comfortable—things don’t terrify me so much now because I’ve had to do them a lot. I have energy to spare. I may have gotten a wee bit spoiled.

When summer came, we went off together to work among a whole lot of people for nine weeks. The effect of everything there in that new situation was so overwhelming I began asking for my Lord to come close and let me feel him and talk to him as we were wont to do. But I was so tired and busy from the work and so stimulated from the newness of everything that I kept looking around for exciting things to perk me up. I especially missed laughter—its fountain was almost dead within me. I was so tired and distracted I couldn’t keep still, so I didn’t feel or see God, even though I knew he was around.

During and after that time (but not the whole time, certainly!), I began to sink into loneliness. I began to complain and sigh. Much of the loneliness has been quite real, but a lot of extra grumbling was thrown in for good measure, in spite of the good times of fellowship I’ve had. My goodness, it’s like I’m back to my bratty childhood! Because life is good! Fun and friends are still to be had—but the overarching theme of my thoughts has been complaint about loneliness. And the more I focus on my complaints the more of them I have. Part of the problem is that I want certain friends, but I don’t actually try to love the people right next to me (and I have a sneaky suspicion that’s exactly what I’m supposed to be doing). So I say I have no friends to my friends who are far away. Silly, isn’t it? The more I focus on friends the less they satisfy me and the more I need them, but the satisfaction doesn’t last because it’s all draining away in ungratefulness.

The past few months, I have gradually given up the hope of feeling satisfied and loved, lowering my expectations to keep myself safe from disappointment. I’ve stopped praying for things, wondering if it even does anything. “What’s the point?” I’ve stopped looking for His face because every time I try I can’t see it. I tried to arrange meetings with friends only to have God deliberately keep them from working out. That made me upset enough to demand, “Who are you?! What’s going on? Why are you doing this?” A thought brushes my mind that something’s shifted, but I can’t tell what. It’s like maybe He’s changed roles, or something… because I’m looking for my Lover and I’m not finding him.

All this quite put me out of sorts. “Lord, I know you’re here, but where are you? I can’t see you, I can’t feel you. Please let me feel you. I don’t feel loved. I feel so lonely. Why did you shut the door so I can’t see my far-away friends? What are you doing? You give me this assignment that requires another person and you’re not sending me anyone! It’s all so hard. It’s like you’re making things hard on purpose! Just give me a hug. Pleeeeeaaasse….!”

And with that I put my head on my desk and moan and groan and refuse to change my attitude when I do get to go outside and play with my friends. I’ll have fun with them and then come right back into the schoolroom with a whine back in my voice and a frown on my face. I’m Teacher’s favorite, and Teacher isn’t giving me special attention. He is very patient and kind, and gives me lessons to help me grow and learn—questions that probe and make me wrestle and think and think to get the answers. We even have long talks and He explains things to help me understand. And I do learn things and feel good about successfully completing my assignments, but I still have a bad attitude because He won’t give me a hug. One of the lesson topics is how important good community and relationships are. Friendship is one of the most special gifts God gives us humans. And by contrast I feel isolated and far from everyone I want to visit with. My eyes rove every which where but at the Teacher and I distract myself from the emptiness I feel. It’s like I don’t see Him at all. Petulant tears come and go. I always was a bad student when I wanted something I wasn’t getting. I knew how to make everybody know how unhappy I was. But He’s not having it.

I’m in the middle of working through a question, about Hope. Many times when I work through these questions I get depressed and discouraged. “Why should I have Hope? What do I hope for? What do I hope in?” I begin to whimper again. “I’ve been so disappointed lately, I keep myself from hoping. So many things feel hopeless…especially God. I can’t even ask him for things anymore…I don’t know what He’s doing anymore… What meaning does the Gospel have in my life? For me, personally?!”

Here, the muffled words of the Teacher penetrate my turbulent mind, saying, “What do you know to be true and solid?” As I write out the answer to that question, it comes out in Names of Him I know I love and Who I know loves me even though I can’t feel it: Gardener, Shepherd, Teacher, Counsellor, Father, Brother, Prince, King; Lover… Crafter, Creator, Artist; Love, Light, Life.

 

• Because He is Gardener, He prunes off certain branches so that others will grow. He digs the soil and buries seeds that will die
• and rise again. He cultivates and tends plants to bear fruit.
• Because He is Shepherd, He cares about my pitiful bleating and silly wanderings. He knows I don’t know much and am pretty helpless, so He comes after me and takes care of me.
• Because He is Teacher and Father, He puts lessons before me again and again so that I may learn and grow. He shows me insights, explains problems, makes me do exercises and studies; trains me in order to build strength and endurance. . . –ooh!

The Teacher’s voice rings through the room. I hear my name, clear as a bell.

I freeze, pen poised over paper. It’s as if a wind blew all the noise in my head clear out the window. My eyes go big and I suddenly know that I’ve been behaving like a spoiled child. I’ve barely registered a thing he’s said these past several weeks—I’ve been so busy with the storm going on in my head! This is my Teacher, my King! I owe him respect, even if He does give me lots of gifts and makes me feel special as a Beloved! At the same time, in the utterance of my name, I hear him remind me that I am a lady, and can act like one. My actions matter.

I slowly lift my gaze to his. In them I see no condemnation; only expectation for my attention. Then His eyes soften into a smile. He knows I finally see Him.