Tinny music floats from the calliope.
Eclectic colors, patterns, and textures create a bright mish-mash.
Throngs tramp through. Most hurry to find an exit.
Barkers bid for attention determined what they have to offer offers an all-time fix.
It’s all a bit distracting. A bit loud. A bit disorienting.
I’ve spent most of my life in Awkward Land.
Neither here nor there. Nor popular or praiseworthy.
And all the “shiny happy people” or the Ken and Barbie couples seem to have the insider scoop on some secret I’ve missed out on. The on-ramp I missed in all the confusion.
Then there’s the glossy bill of sale that spouts of health and wealth, promises problem-free living, espouses the American Dream all in slick veneer, slathered with a heap of out-of-context verses.
It lives more in the land of delusion than it abides in the embodied human experience, awkward or not.
“GOOD Christians” aren’t supposed to say this, are they?
But sometimes when no one is looking, I whisper it with Bono.
“I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.”
Or I nod with Rich Mullins as he sings, “You are just plain hard to get.”
I’m not sure we even know what we’re looking for.
Significance? Assurance? Safety? Confidence? Success? That American Dream?
Even then, define your terms, Edith.
In a world wrought with worry, shaken by shame, and gilded with guilt, what is the assurance we are searching for?
My human experience offers me this. I believe I am one in whom Christ dwells and delights AND I daily carry questions of faith.
Maybe we Christians have done the disservice of trying to offer black or white, either/or.
And Emily Freeman pops up on my screen.
Well, Emily’s picture and her podcast, not literal Emily, although that would be pretty cool.
{Is that our next Jetsons-style cartoon? People who teleport through screens?}
Anyway….
She asks this question for us. “Am I Doing This Wrong?”
Isn’t this my underlying question when I whisper with Bono?
What’s wrong with me? Where did I mess up, miss it?
In Awkward Land I’ve spent most of my life on the Tilt-a-whirl of Doing It Scared.
When I was assembled the pieces came from bits of introvert and empathy and overthinking and the bins of sensation, adrenaline, and thrill-seeking were skipped over entirely.
Perhaps you could argue this is why I still haven’t found what I’m looking for but I’ll parry with the opinion thrill seekers often haven’t found what they’re looking for either and they hope the next thrill and the next thrill and the next, next, next will be the magic piece they’re missing.
Yet, in summation, two words. I’m boring.
I’m more cozy carousel than the Kingda Ka at Six Flags.
I’m easily intimidated.
I process slowly.
Life has generally rushed along to the next thing while I’m still circling.
But, I notice Jesus never freaks out when people show up with questions or confess to failings, lay out faults or cry, “I believe, Help my unbelief.”
He simply helps them.
He doesn’t coerce or coax or condescend.
He doesn’t even seem to notice how much I trip on my own two feet, say the words wrong, spin, spin, spin on the tri-colored car of Scared.
He doesn’t chide my caution or throw bright little tropes like #faithoverfear or hashtagblessed onto my already bent back.
Instead of pointing toward my awkward silence, He slips in beside me.
Holds the silver bar and tackles the turns with me.
Hums the Rich Mullins line in unison.
“Hear the prayers of those of us who live in skin?”
Eyes closed, he hums through several more bars.
When I lift my head again, He’s looking right at me.
“You didn’t miss it. It’s ok to keep seeking. Doing It Scared doesn’t dictate you. I’ve experienced Doing It Scared all the way to death and back again. I came to seek and to save. It was always the awkward, the wayward, the froward who followed me forward.
The needy. The burdened. The doubtful. The hurting.
They were looking.
They were asking.
They were open.”
The music is singing now of love so amazing, so divine.
Jesus holds out his hand, steadies me down the steps.
A stream of chatter and clatter still rushes by with swift procession.
Leaning in Jesus smiles. “I have found what I am looking for. It’s You. You, my child. Nothing can separate you from Me. No amount of Scared. No amount of questions. No amount of wondering if you have it wrong. You are mine. Live Loved.”
