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Returning to ones first love
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I know everything, and I know that I know. This makes me, according
to Dr. Gillen, a very wise man and I know it.
I also know that I do not have a problem with humility. Why,
I haven't been tempted by humility yet, and I don't see it being
a problem anytime in the near future.
My superior knowledge, however, is not what this article is about.
What I really wish to write about is of the return of my first love.
And I'm not speaking of the Shetland Sheepdog, Sable, that my
family had when I was two. He's been dead ever since we buried him,
which is a totally different story.
It is hard for me to write an article like the one you are reading;
actually, I hope that after being edited this is still the article
you are reading - but I won't count my Cadbury Creme Eggs until
they hatch.
The reason it is hard for me to write this article is because
I'm sick. Nothing serious really; terminal, yes, but I have a good
70 to 80 years before it kills me.
This illness has made it so that I don't want to eat, not even
Marriott food.
Now I know what you are thinking (remember I know everything),
and I am offended that you would jest at my condition. But eating
is exactly what I heed to do: I see other people eating, and they
seem to enjoy it. Some seem to be enjoying it too much, and others
don't seem to enjoy it at all.
Some will pile their tray up with food, sit down, take a bite
and then rush off leaving stacks of food to whatever it is that
lives behind the iron veil.
Others will do the same but will leave the tray on the table
when they take off. I feel compelled to tell them that the majority
of responsible students know what to do with a cafeteria tray. And
that if they are confused I would gladly illustrate the process
for them once or twice, depending on how long it takes for them
to comprehend it.
I see some students who desperately need to eat, but won't due
to the fear of becoming fat.
I then notice students who, like myself, are trying to eat but
just aren't hungry. I imagine that they know, like I do, how much
they need to eat, but can't.
Okay, okay, the quicker ones have already surmised that I am
not really writing about eating habits in our beloved Marriott although
people that don't put their trays away really do bug me.
They realize that I am making an analogy, albeit a poor one,
but an analogy nonetheless.
I am not sick - though I am trying to gain the "Freshmen
15" that I didn't get when I was a freshmen, and the 15 pounds
a current freshmen didn't want.
My hunger doesn't have anything to do with Marriott either. What
I mean is that my hunger is not physical in nature, but spiritual.
I know everything, or at least I think I do. I could put the
majority of you away in less than ten minutes of Bible trivia.
In times past, I have had people kneel at my feet after such
a humiliation and ask me to teach them my ways. My brother called
them "sarcastics," but I'm not quite sure what he meant.
This knowledge has puffed me up, and has stifled my love for
God.
I used to want to know Him, and slowly - so slowly in fact that
I failed to see the transition - my desires became less for Him
and more for His truth, and the work He had given me to do.
When I finally looked up from the books and work that I had immersed
myself in, I realized that I didn't know God.
I almost began to hate those who knew less then me, but knew
Him more.
If there is one character in the Bible I can really relate to
it is the prodigal son's older brother. Oh, and of course, Solomon.
(Note: I am joking about my knowing everything, it is called
an hyperbole - please no nasty notes. My position as a writer is
precarious enough.)
Once I awoke to my condition I tried to renew my first love for
God by doing the things that had been the catalysts before. I went
on missions, I prayed, I tried to serve God in my church, I gave
money, I worked for a ministry but nothing worked.
I finally just shut down - much like a computer does when you
are nearly done with a ten page paper that you forgot to save.
I came to the point where nothing I did helped, so I began to
do nothing. And it helped; the pain left with all the other feelings.
Added to this tepidity were some situations that destroyed my
user friendly image of God.
Why, if God is a good God, do people suffer so?
Why doesn't He protect those who love Him from being murdered,
raped, and sexually and physically abused?
Even having grown up in the Mecca of Charismatics I am still
very confused by a lot of the theology and movements. I don't see
the simplicity of the gospel anymore. I am no longer a child and
wish that I were.
All I seem to see are reams and reams of charts, tables and formulas,
and it makes me nauseous.
Ultimately, it goes back to my first love. That is where I must
go now, for if I do not then this road that I am traveling will
become a way of a life.
And, by Joe, I'm tired of being a skeptic, and I'm weary of asking
questions that I can't answer, and God won't answer because He wasn't
asked.
How do I get there! Only God knows. I sure can't get there by
my efforts, and if I could what kind of place would that be!
All I know is that the journey of a million miles begins with
one step, and that step toward God is what I must now take. It is
my hope that He will make up the difference.
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