So, I think I had an epiphany last night. At Bible study, we were discussing the mystery of God–primarily the mystery of our relationship with God. How things like the Holy Spirit, and God’s love for His children are mysteries. Very hard, if not impossible to understand.
And I realized how hard “mysteries” are for me. How I just want to know the answer. How knowing the answer makes me feel like I have some modicum of control (ha!). And it all kind of clicked in my mind. I’ve gone through a very long period of asking God questions. Good little journalist that I am, I’ve been shoving my tape recorder in His face, ready to record his answers. God, why did you take me on this path? Why did you allow (fill in the blank) to happen to me? To my family? Why is there sin? Why is there pain? Why, why, why?
I don’t know if you’ve ever interviewed someone. I’ve done it quite a bit. And there’s a definite line between the interviewer and the interviewee. I’ve had pleasant interviews. I’ve had tedious interviews. But they’ve always been interviews. Chatting is at a minimum. You keep things as short, and concise as possible. You’re not buddies. You’re working.
And that’s how I’ve been treating my relationship with God. It hasn’t been an intimate, friendly, child talking to her father. It’s been me, scrawling notes in my notebook, trying to get the answers. While, all along, God just wants to love me. Will he give me answers? Sometimes.
But I’d rather he call me daughter instead of reporter.