Sometimes I miss being right. It’s a nice feeling, isn’t it?
I miss being a know-it-all and having a nice, tidy answer for everything. I even miss being content with what I was told without question, believing that the “man of God” was right. I miss how easy it was to keep my head down and my mouth shut (but then I missed my own voice).
I miss the black-and-white thinking and sometimes I think that maybe it would be nice to think that I’m right all the time and to believe what I am told and just go through my life, paying my taxes, paying off my mortgage and saving for retirement, believing that that is enough for me and my easy Christ.
I don’t know much anymore and I feel like I’m perpetually in the posture of the student, learning, shaking my head in wonder, eyes being opened, lights being turned on in corners I didn’t even know were dark.
But here is the truth: I’m happy because my hands aren’t clenched tight, no white half-moons from my fingernails on my long life line any more and my tongue is heavy with the bread of life and joy joy JOY.
There is much beauty here, too, in the consuming of the real life, in the living, in the laughing, in the weeping, in the questioning and the wrestling. The Kingdom is that great pearl that when you find it, you sell everything else off – even your right answers – just to hold it in your hand, roll it around your teeth for the joy of the clicking sound it makes, falling into place. Even in the tension and pain of knowing that I don’t know, of knowing that I am biased and I have much to learn, of knowing that I am prideful and deeply in need of redemption every day, I am strangely, bizarrely, more happy here.
So yes, I have lost my Right Answers. But I have gained the soul-grace of this Love, the cacophony of colours blinding me to every dull and fuzzy black-and-white-turned-to-grey-idea, dazzling me with the glory of God alone, above and beyond any opinion, any answer, any apologetic, any doctrine.
It’s peaceful and right to be here at the feet of Jesus, my head tipped back, ears finally hearing, eyes finally seeing, my hands wound tight on to the corner of a dusty robe, my heart wide, flesh again.
Ah, so this is prayer when you listen, I breathe.