I Thought I’d Know More by Now
I thought I’d know more by now.
Have you ever felt that way?
I mean, sometimes I know things. True things. Helpful things. Truths I learned from God’s Word and applied.
Other times, the mirror fogs, and no matter how many times I swipe, I can’t get clarity, can’t see beyond the back of my own hand.
What is the point of this struggle? Why not simply upload His Word to my DNA so obedience is like breathing or my beating heart?
I thought by my age, after decades of walking with Jesus, reading His Word, living it out imperfectly but trying, that somehow I would be more Zen. (Well, not Zen because that’s the other guy, the one who isn’t God, but you know what I mean.)
I imagined descriptors for me by now would be more like unflappable, wise, content, Gandhi-like, or accomplished, but I’m still experiencing a considerable amount of flap.
Well, and comparisons to Gandhi were always out of reach, let’s just be honest.
It’s not the basic tenets of faith I doubt—the existence of our loving Father God, the righteousness of Jesus who died for me, the reality of His resurrection, and the power and presence of the Holy Spirit.
It’s more about my discipleship.
Like, why am I still terrified when the storms rise and I find myself screaming at Jesus to wake up because I’m going to drown. If all I need is faith the size of a mustard seed, does mine shrink to microscopic the moment the first dark cloud lingers over my dinghy?
I thought when life presented challenges that by now, I could turn to chapter and verse in the Bible, find a simple prescription to apply, and voila! Challenges would dissipate like blocked sinuses cleared by VapoRub.
But each challenge He helps me overcome seems only to be preparation for the larger one coming.
Like my son advising my daughter when she opened her first math workbook.
He shook his head, “Don’t get excited. The second you get stuff right in that one, mom’ll just give you a harder book. Don’t be too good too fast because it doesn’t work out like you think it will.”
I hear you, son.
At first, it sounds amazing to follow Jesus wherever He leads but He walks into tough spots every day, I’ll tell you.
And every journey is exciting at the start when the boring parts, snafus, detours, and interruptions are somewhere far down the road.
The romance dies, I promise, somewhere along your second shipwreck or the third time townspeople ask you to move on because they prefer their pigs over the people you’re trying to help to freedom.
Worse is when you know the journey isn’t going as planned because of you.
You’ve indulged in a mood, a sin, or a pout about not taking the scenic route. There you are, arms crossed in the back seat, and Jesus still seems fine, which you know is because He is and you could be, too, if you’d just confess already and move on.
He’s not even scowling, just waiting with all that kind patience that just makes you want to give up your wrong ways.
Then, out the rear window, you catch a glimpse at the destruction and pain your sin has caused, truly ruining what Jesus was making beautiful. When that hits home and your tear-filled eyes meet His—finding forgiveness for even that horror, you’re renewed for the journey.
But it won’t be the last time you wreak havoc and that’s sobering even on good days.
I guess that what no one told me (but I’ll tell you) is that even on its best days, the life of following Jesus on this side of glory is like waking up in a room full of storytellers.
As the day began, they start telling their stories.
They weave beautiful tales in colorful detail with music that draws you like a sailor to sirens of old. They’re lying, of course, but lovely lies.
They promise transformation, power, and a happy life if you only drink their potion, swallow their pill, or submit to their regimen. They’re so certain and sure.
Some shout over the others with fearsome tales of warning and woe. Their stories like labyrinths of tragedy, conflict, premonition, and dark endings belching smoke from oily factory fires that give no warmth or light, but they puff on, like a relentless industrial revolution of half-truths and anxiety.
But, one Storyteller whispers in the gray light just before dawn. An ancient story that somehow you remember even though it’s all new.
It’s not always a beautiful story in the telling and he is scarred, half-hidden in the twilight, so quiet some days you wonder if His voice is really there, and yet, you hear, even if others can’t.
He tells a story of transformation along a thorny road. A journey on which growth and change come through trials, sacrifices, a thousand small obediences, and time.
There is darkness in his tale but also the promise of an undeniable light like the first beams of the sun making its way over the horizon to your room.
The others try to drown him out. They distract you as you try to hear him, attempting to find your part in his epic ballad.
Sometimes, you listen to the other tales, even adding a story of your own devising, and you let them carry or drag you far from the road that leads home.
But the storyteller is relentless, persistent in His love for you. He searches for you, telling His true tale, the only true tale, and always finding you down every alley, behind every locked door, hiding under every cover, and cowering in each dark forest.
His story is the truest tale you’ve ever known but it’s always a battle to give it the attention you know He deserves.
Still, here’s something I know. He’ll never stop telling it or finding us when we wander off after other stories.
We get better at hearing him and coming home is always wonderful.
Of all the stories we hear, it’s the only one worth re-telling everyday until we’re all home.
And somehow we know the struggle is one of our own making, but the storyteller will take even that and use it to prove the story true, again, and again, and again.
I thought I’d know more by now.
I do know Him better. More and more, that’s enough.
I thought I'd know more by now. How about you? https://t.co/t1Mkfeb6fr #amwriting #olderwomen
— Lori Roeleveld (@lorisroeleveld) February 6, 2023
**I’d love to come speak at your church, retreat, or women’s event. I’ve just completed work on an upcoming book for Our Daily Bread about the choices of over 120 women in the Bible. If you’d like me to speak on that or any other topic, contact me! April is full and May is getting fuller but, let’s chat!
