An Un-original Story
God has a good idea every once in awhile. Take the platypus, for example. God put the platypus on earth to remind us that we need to recycle just like He does. So you see, God has a good idea every once in awhile.
But mosquitoes? Clear proof that God makes mistakes.
If you're doubting my theology here, then I congratulate you. The above section was meant to be read with the utmost sarcasm or else, not at all. But just in case you missed it, let me correct myself here: God does not make mistakes.
But what about....? Then how do you explain...? Even in the case of...? I probably can't answer all those questions, but I am overjoyed by my lack of understanding. I do not wish to live in a world where the Creator is so simple, He can be understood, in all that He is and all that He does, by the creation.
It would be a lie to tell you, though, that I do not sometimes doubt God's interest and control over certain areas of my life. In all honesty, I sometimes believe that I should be in charge. Not of everything, of course. Not even of the big things. I willingly turn things like my future over to God because they are clearly to big for me to handle. But the little things? I am often tempted to smile when God prompts me to give them up. "Step aside, Big Guy. I got this."
Things like my attitude. Things like my relationships with my family.
Or perhaps most of all, things like my happiness.
God promises us eternal joy in return for a life of following Him. He says that when we chose to surrender to His will for our lives, we are adopted as His children and thus, will be given inheritance. The problem is, we think of God like a wiser and skinnier version of Santa Clause. We want what God has promised, and we want it now.
But our prayers aren't always answered the way we want or in the time-frame we want. God's plans aren't always revealed to us in a way that makes sense. Sometimes things just don't unfold the way we want them to.
So clearly, something has to be done. And we do that something: we take control of the situation. God has promised to work for the good of those who love Him, but clearly He doesn't know what or how to provide that, so we decide we'll find our own good.
We search for our own forms of happiness. We seek our own sources of acceptance. We prop up our own version of love. But our search proves futile, our sources run dry, and our propped up version collapses. Before we know it we are starving: for happiness, for acceptance, for love. We will do anything. The more we lack these things, the more everyone around us seems to have them. It can't be that hard. It can't be that far. We've almost got it.
And then we hit rock bottom. We can't lie to ourselves any more. Everything we're searching for is not right at our fingertips, it's miles and miles away. Back where we left it. Back at home.
Our story is not a new one. Jesus understood it when he was here on Earth. Although I do not pretend to know everything about Jesus, I do know that He knew this story.
Because He told this story. This description I have been giving you, this was not just an autobiography. It was not just the story of a thousand other people around the world and throughout history. It is the story of a boy who thinks he knows best, demands he be given what has been promised to him, leaves, and soon finds himself starving and more unhappy than ever before.
It's the story of the prodigal son. We know the warning it holds, but we fail to see the correlation in our own lives when we demand our inheritance and chose our own lifestyle. Thus, we doom ourselves to the same fate.
But the story of the prodigal son doesn't end with a starving boy. Because when the prodigal son reaches the bottom, he turns around. He stands up, looks over his shoulder, and takes a few stumbling steps back in the direction he came, hoping to find some semblance of what was once promised to him.
And before he can even regain his balance, he is picked up and carried home on the shoulders of his overjoyed father. His father weeps for joy, calling everyone to celebrate at the return of his son. Because he has been waiting. He has been watching. He has not been angry over the wrong done to him; he has been hoping for his son to come home.
And the boy finds happiness in his father's rejoicing. He finds acceptance in his father's arms. He finds love in his father's eyes.
We have all been the prodigal son and our longings can only be fulfilled when we realize that just like the boy in the story, we have been wrong. Our inheritance is not provided by God. Our inheritance is God.
But mosquitoes? Clear proof that God makes mistakes.
If you're doubting my theology here, then I congratulate you. The above section was meant to be read with the utmost sarcasm or else, not at all. But just in case you missed it, let me correct myself here: God does not make mistakes.
But what about....? Then how do you explain...? Even in the case of...? I probably can't answer all those questions, but I am overjoyed by my lack of understanding. I do not wish to live in a world where the Creator is so simple, He can be understood, in all that He is and all that He does, by the creation.
It would be a lie to tell you, though, that I do not sometimes doubt God's interest and control over certain areas of my life. In all honesty, I sometimes believe that I should be in charge. Not of everything, of course. Not even of the big things. I willingly turn things like my future over to God because they are clearly to big for me to handle. But the little things? I am often tempted to smile when God prompts me to give them up. "Step aside, Big Guy. I got this."
Things like my attitude. Things like my relationships with my family.
Or perhaps most of all, things like my happiness.
God promises us eternal joy in return for a life of following Him. He says that when we chose to surrender to His will for our lives, we are adopted as His children and thus, will be given inheritance. The problem is, we think of God like a wiser and skinnier version of Santa Clause. We want what God has promised, and we want it now.
But our prayers aren't always answered the way we want or in the time-frame we want. God's plans aren't always revealed to us in a way that makes sense. Sometimes things just don't unfold the way we want them to.
So clearly, something has to be done. And we do that something: we take control of the situation. God has promised to work for the good of those who love Him, but clearly He doesn't know what or how to provide that, so we decide we'll find our own good.
We search for our own forms of happiness. We seek our own sources of acceptance. We prop up our own version of love. But our search proves futile, our sources run dry, and our propped up version collapses. Before we know it we are starving: for happiness, for acceptance, for love. We will do anything. The more we lack these things, the more everyone around us seems to have them. It can't be that hard. It can't be that far. We've almost got it.
And then we hit rock bottom. We can't lie to ourselves any more. Everything we're searching for is not right at our fingertips, it's miles and miles away. Back where we left it. Back at home.
Our story is not a new one. Jesus understood it when he was here on Earth. Although I do not pretend to know everything about Jesus, I do know that He knew this story.
Because He told this story. This description I have been giving you, this was not just an autobiography. It was not just the story of a thousand other people around the world and throughout history. It is the story of a boy who thinks he knows best, demands he be given what has been promised to him, leaves, and soon finds himself starving and more unhappy than ever before.
It's the story of the prodigal son. We know the warning it holds, but we fail to see the correlation in our own lives when we demand our inheritance and chose our own lifestyle. Thus, we doom ourselves to the same fate.
But the story of the prodigal son doesn't end with a starving boy. Because when the prodigal son reaches the bottom, he turns around. He stands up, looks over his shoulder, and takes a few stumbling steps back in the direction he came, hoping to find some semblance of what was once promised to him.
And before he can even regain his balance, he is picked up and carried home on the shoulders of his overjoyed father. His father weeps for joy, calling everyone to celebrate at the return of his son. Because he has been waiting. He has been watching. He has not been angry over the wrong done to him; he has been hoping for his son to come home.
And the boy finds happiness in his father's rejoicing. He finds acceptance in his father's arms. He finds love in his father's eyes.
We have all been the prodigal son and our longings can only be fulfilled when we realize that just like the boy in the story, we have been wrong. Our inheritance is not provided by God. Our inheritance is God.
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