As with any human relationship, I do not believe that any two persons have the same relationship with God. We are made in His image, but we are not His cookie-cutter creations rolling off a divine production line. We were chosen in Christ before the foundation of the world, knit together in our mother’s womb by the Master Creator—from bits and pieces, aspects if you will, of His own self. At our core, we are who we are by His choosing. And in that, we think, feel, process, and relate differently, so why would we all have the exact same relationship with God? With that in mind and framing this a bit further: I do not believe God is ever truly silent with us. I suspect this may be a universal truth, but since I am not “everyone,” I can only say it has been true in my own life—though often, only hindsight made me aware He was speaking.
I haven’t always believed this, and like many, I have had periods in my life where God most certainly seemed quiet. From my perspective, we were ignoring each other. You see, God made me mad and being the example of maturity that I am, I chucked “His book” and gave Him the silent treatment. In a fit of pure childishness, I demanded that if I were to follow Him, He would have to pursue me because I was done playing His silly game. I had no clue that that is what He had been waiting for.
Some may wonder, “How could God make you mad?” But let’s be honest—others are nodding in agreement. My reason was simple. He made me mad because I did not have what others had, or try as I might, was I able to figure out a way to get it. I just wanted to know how to make my relationship with God feel real. The fact that they could and I couldn’t, made me see myself as wholly inadequate. My relationship had been the endless performance roller coaster of two steps forward, three steps back. Where every day was an exhausting cycle of obsessive, but mostly failed, attempts at behavior modification. I was hurt that God met “them” where they were, but not me. I felt rejected. So like any rational full grown man, I took my ball and went home. This moment of childishness, is my “conversion story”…
As with many American Christians growing up in the 80’s, I prayed “the prayer” as many times as I could muster the guilt driven nerve to publicly raise my hand or walk the aisle. In that sense I have been following Jesus since I was a young child. But it was the fear-based relationship that few admit to. Now I see that my view of who God was, was skewed by an absent father and a mother who talked a good game in public but only used God and promises of hell to manipulate us into obedience. To me, God was a distant begrudging God who counted all wrongs and only forgave with the proper recipe of belief and words. Of course, no one says that but it is how I felt, and I assumed (or hoped) that most did too. There were always the folks who were the “true believers” and those were the ones of which I was jealous. They seemed real. The words they spoke matched their displayed emotion and commitment but without that “being fake” sheen. I longed for what they had.
My desert experience was brought about by a perfect storm of events. Events that my stubborn nature would have weathered without issue had they happened on their own. However, with conspicuously perfect timing, they coalesced into one life-altering event. One where the impact would be felt over a decade later.
Other factors were also at play here. Beyond my running out of energy to keep trying at the goodness game, two influences came into my life at the same time. Someone in my family discovered the book titled “He Loves Me” by Wayne Jacobson and I simply could not get enough of it. This was a gospel I could get behind. This was a view of God that could be real and not just bring about compliance with a forced smile. The other influence was my being introduced to a singer/songwriter by the name of Jeremy Riddle. His hit song at the time was “How He Loves” and it resonated with my heart. For the first time, I had an idea of what it might be like to feel loved by God. I had never experienced anything so powerful musically before and it gave me a small taste of what my heart knew was out there somewhere.
I read “He Loves Me” three times. My head understood this “new gospel” as truth—truer than anything I’d known—but my heart refused to absorb it. Where the book failed to break through, Riddle’s song did. Over and over, I bathed in the emotion his voice stirred in me, longing for the connection it hinted at. But instead of drawing me closer, it became a reminder of what I lacked.
When the initial rush faded, so did my hope. I watched others rejoice in a God who still felt out of reach for me. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t connect with Him the way they did. That realization hurt, then hardened into anger. If everyone else could experience Him and I couldn’t, then something in me must be broken.
This all came to a head in the parking lot at work after coming back from lunch break. The rain was coming down in sheets while I procrastinated going inside to my office…weeping, angry, and hurt. Hurt because I was too broken to see God how everyone else in my life was. Angry because God refused to reveal Himself to me. Like a child, I raged at God in that parking lot with Jeremy Riddle playing in the background. In desperation, I tried to force a connection. I did not know it at the time but the crushing darkness I felt on top of the loneliness that had followed me my entire life, was me reaching my end. I told Him that I was done walking His tight-rope. If He wanted any relationship with me, it was all on Him because I no longer had the energy to pursue Him through games or the cruelty of separation anymore.
Looking back, I think if I had been listening closely enough, I would have heard a near-silent: “Deal.”