Finding God In The RuinsSample

Put Away the Glitter

I recently asked a woman we hired to play fiddle in our church if she would tell me about her faith journey. She swept her hair behind her ear, took a deep breath and began like this, “Okay, I’ll tell you. But I have to know that it won’t get me fired.” She was dead serious.

Tears filled my eyes immediately because I could hear how the body of Christ had most likely treated her. “You will never have to worry about that with me,” I told her. “I just want to hear your story.”

She spoke of her disappointment with God. In her twenties, while engaged to be married, her fiancé had died suddenly. But her fiancé wasn’t the only thing confiscated from her on that day, her faith in God was as well. She told me that most of the things communicated to her about God didn’t seem true after her fiancé died, and that his death sent her on a mission to find a deeper understanding of what she really believed.

"All of the good in my life has a contrast,” she told me. “And that contrast is where I learn the great life lessons. When the contrast comes, I plop myself down in the middle of the pain, frustration, or unmet expectations and I wait on God. When he shows up, I begin working to hear his still small voice so that I will know what he is trying to teach me.

“I ask him, ‘What is it that you want me to learn so that I can accomplish your will for my life?’ I no longer spend my life trying to escape pain.”

Kara has learned the beauty of holding dark and light together, right out in front of her face. No More Pain is not the core conviction of her faith. She has put away the glitter.

Have we?

I think God has grown weary of our drawings of rainbows, blue skies and jagged green grass. “Let’s put these away for now,” I can imagine him saying, as he takes our brightly colored crayons and places them high on a shelf where we can’t get at them. “This picture of your life isn’t really accurate anyway, is it?” he asks while dumping our glitter down the drain.

“I’d really love to see what you could do with these.” He is holding out some of the drabbest crayons we’ve ever seen – a fist filled with every color of Alone.

“But before you make one mark on that page,” he says, “I want you to tell me the truth this time.”

He pulls up a chair, takes our hands into his own and looks us straight in the eyes. “Now,” he says to us, “tell me what happened to you. I really want to know.”