In response….

So today’s post is all about Job’s response to the awesome God of Creation. Which can be our response. So let’s read it in couple of versions. Maybe read it aloud. Reflect on it. Consider how it works for you. How it can be your response to the suffering and confusion and monsters in your own life right now. And then I will write my own response to the events of the last week or so in my own life.

I know that you can do all things;
no purpose of yours can be thwarted.
You asked, ‘Who is this that obscures my plans without knowledge?’
Surely I spoke of things I did not understand,
things too wonderful for me to know.
You said, ‘Listen now, and I will speak;
I will question you,
and you shall answer me.’
My ears had heard of you
but now my eyes have seen you.
Therefore I despise myself
and repent in dust and ashes.  Job 42:2-6 (NIV)

And here it is again in more everyday language –

I’m convinced: You can do anything and everything.
Nothing and no one can upset your plans.
You asked, ‘Who is this muddying the water,
ignorantly confusing the issue, second-guessing my purposes?’
I admit it. I was the one. I babbled on about things far beyond me,
made small talk about wonders way over my head.
You told me, ‘Listen, and let me do the talking.
Let me ask the questions. You give the answers.’
I admit I once lived by rumours of you;
now I have it all firsthand—from my own eyes and ears!
I’m sorry—forgive me. I’ll never do that again, I promise!
I’ll never again live on crusts of hearsay, crumbs of rumour.  Job 42:2-6

And here’s how I would paraphrase it –

You can do anything, God. Anything. Everything. There’s no doubt about that.

When you decide to do something, nothing can stand in your way. Absolutely nothing. No one can stop you.

We can speculate and question and come up with our own interpretations. We can go round and round in circles and all we’re doing is actually confusing the issue. We can spend far too much time talking and nowhere near enough time listening.

We all too easily forget how incredible you are. How far beyond our understanding and imagination.

You want us to be still. To know that you are God. To hear about you not only with our ears, but to let a glimpse of your glory seep deep into our hearts and souls.

I feel bad – really bad – that I haven’t trusted you like I should have done. Please forgive me.

So there you have three versions of Job’s response. But how about a real life response to a real life situation? My real life.

On Monday night, well Tuesday morning technically, my Dad died. It was sort of expected. Except in the end, it was not. It took me completely by surprise.

I’d been with him all day Monday. I left at six to drive home. In fact, he suggested I leave quarter of an hour early because I had a long drive ahead of me. I felt at peace. Excited to be getting home to the family. Relieved that Dad seemed at peace too. And by the time I’d driven the three hours home, it was too late. It was too late to turn back and say our final goodbye.

Neither of us had expected that to be the last goodbye. I’m sure of that. But I’m OK with that. I have no regrets. No regrets at all. I know that this is what he wanted. What I wanted for him, truth be told. He was ready. Except when it came to it, I wasn’t ready. I don’t think I would ever have been ready. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Death is one of the most natural things in life and yet it feels so unnatural. Death has shaken my world. My faith in life. It’s reminded me how fragile life actually is. It is a trauma. It is a shock. Processing the change in my world is exhausting.

And so God, it’s hard to believe in your perfect timing, because it doesn’t look very perfect from where I’m sitting. I have plenty of questions I want answers to. I feel confused. I don’t understand myself, let alone you.

It’s hard to sit with unanswered questions. Hard to be at peace with confusing thoughts swirling around in my mind. And it really doesn’t help when other people try to come up with answers and explanations. I really don’t like that at all. I don’t need that. Because none of their words even scratch the surface of your plans and ways.

Trust is about not needing to know. Trust is about letting you deal with life and death in your way, God. Us humans can never control life and death. Only you can. Trust is about having confidence that you know what you’re doing, even if I never will.

I don’t think I’ve even begun to feel the pain of losing my Dad yet. I feel like I’m a hedgehog wrapped up in a ball around my grief. Protecting it from other people. I’m not allowing anyone else to see. Not even allowing myself to see. It feels like self-preservation. It’s what I feel I have to do right now. And so God, at some stage, I’d like to visit that place with you. I’d like to find a way to uncurl. To trust you to take me there without me falling apart into a thousand pieces. I want to sit in that unimaginable place and be still and know that you are God. You are God of it all. Always.

I trust you as far as I can today. Help me to trust you more.