The whole sky lit up.
No thunder. No rain. Pitch black clouds. And then an explosion of light.
Orange. And red. And fast.
Like He was setting the sky on fire.
I knew it was Him. Not even trying to get my attention anymore, but announcing Himself. A mighty shake of His head and a whisper I don't need to remind you of who I am.
I drove straight into what should have been a storm.
It wasn't long before the flashes of light were directly over my head. Yet I kept going.
If it's You, I challenged, I need You to be bigger than that.
My own words felt ridiculous. Like betrayal on my lips. I knew it was Him.
Like walking into a room and running directly into the last person you wanted to see, I diverted my eyes. I'd given Him a wide berth. Because I know He's there. Big and imposing and faithful and gracious. And doing a bunch of crap I don't understand.
Even as the ridiculous words, the test, left my mouth I heard Him. Why? Why would I show up for you? Why would I waste My time... you and I both know it won't change anything.
The sky remained dark. And I felt the hollowness some talk about. The hollowed out place behind your breastbone. Not a threat. Or a foreshadowing. But the reality that though He may not, we often run very far away from Him.
The sky remained dark. Until I pulled into the darker parking lot and the sky split in two. Like someone had lit the almightiest of matches. And on the tendrils of light, which raced across the sky, I heard Him. I Am. And you know that. I Am. And you are Mine.
How is that I hear so clearly. And fail so deliberately.
As if when I walked in and shut the door, I shut the door on Him. Standing on the doorstep. Hands in His pockets. I'll see you later, I said. And shut the door on His words. In that very moment, as the latch clicked, I just wished it would rain.
"These days I feel most connected to God when I am alone in a thunderstorm. I don't know what it is about the rain, except it seems to wash everything away. (Vaughan, 2011)"
I'm not going anywhere.
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