Enough
I want to write something eloquent. I want to write something moving. I want to share what's been spinning my head around these days and maybe make sense of it for myself while I try to make some sense of it for you.
I've had enough.
Of mana-life, of moment-to-moment living. It's been about nine weeks since the lights of "normal" blinked out to leave us in the pitch black unknown. We struck a match. Lit a candle. That small circle of dancing, dim light has been our existence.
This screeching halt has brought so much goodness into our lives. We have flourished in many ways. We have had to focus. We have had to notice. We have had to pay attention. We have had to be aware. We have had to appreciate. We have had to trust. We have had to depend on each other. We have had to shed the unnecessary and invest in the necessary. All peripherals have been shut out and the essentials of my life have been revealed by the glowing circumference of this candle flame. We have found, surprisingly, that it is enough.
In fact, more than enough.
But I am struggling. Daily mana has sustained us, but I crave something else.
I have dutifully dug in to this new reality, accepted the circumstances and appreciated the lessons it has to teach. But in all this time, I never imagined that day-to-day living could be more than a new discipline to take into "real life" when it reemerges. I never imagined the point might be that this should become "real life." Could it be that this is the better way to live--like, for the rest of my life? I don't even want to consider it. But as I look ahead with no clarity about the future, my worldview altered by experience through a pandemic, it is a nagging thought. Not because there is no hope to regain what has been lost through this crisis, but because maybe some of what we have lost during this crisis needs to stay lost.
I've been relatively cool with slowing down life for the pandemic. It's been a refining process, a paring down that has made space for some neglected people and practices. But I am not ready for mana-living to be my long-term reality.
I can't live like this. I can't always exist in this limited circle of light. I need to know what's beyond. I need to see further. I need to know what's out there, what's coming, what's ahead. I need to plan. I need to fill the schedule. I need to...I need to know.
I'm in danger of believing that I'm being confined, controlled, relegated to this small space of life so God can manipulate me. But that perspective assumes something: what exists in the unknown beyond my reality is something better than what I have. It is good that is being withheld from me. This is the original sin, isn't it? Acting on a belief that there's something good out there that God doesn't love me enough to give to me.
I went back to Numbers to read up on the whole mana situation. I remembered there being something in there about quail. Sure enough, when the people complained about their mana diet, God yielded and gave them the meat they begged for. They begged for it. They said if they didn't get it, they'd rather be slaves in Egypt where they "ate meat at no cost" (11:5). At no cost? It was costing them everything. "At no cost." What a thing to say.
This pandemic has cost us so much. It has cost many people their very lives. But I can't help but feel like there's another price we had been paying long before this. A demanding creditor. As we emptied every bit of our wealth into its coffers, we were thanking it for taking every penny from us.
I've always thought of that whole incident with the Israelites in the desert as being about appetite and greed. But I think maybe there's another layer there that I never gave them credit for--and one that is hitting way too close to home right now. Maybe it was more about...control. At least in Egypt, they knew what to expect. At least in Egypt, their days were not a mystery. They had home, of a sort. Routine, of a sort. Work to do, of a sort. They had something to expect, even if it wasn't optimal. Even if it was slavery.
I've been sensing an uncomfortable question for the past couple of weeks. It's troubling me. What if--what if the new normal became this day-to-day, moment-by-moment, wait-on-the-Lord kind of existence? Could I thrive there? Or would I rather sell my debts to a creditor who will open my field of vision at the simple cost of everything?
That's not a perfect metaphor (is there ever a perfect metaphor?), I confess. Because the cost--the giving up everything--is actually non negotiable. We either give it to God or we give it to something else. "Whoever tries to keep their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life will preserve it" (Luke 17:33). With God, it's an investment with 100% return plus interest. We get it all back and then some. He's the ultimate trustee. He isn't going to let us waste our investment. He'll give us exactly the amount we need at exactly the right time for our greatest flourishing without risking our capital.
But if we want to go another route, he'll release us. He'll let the quail come, and we will literally gorge ourselves to death. It is our choice.
I want to make the life-giving choice. But I miss my false sense of control, even knowing it to be false. Isn't that the insanity? I know it to be a fallacy. And I miss the illusion. I miss "seeing further ahead". I miss filling my calendar with things that will "help me get by," even when that calendar is constantly shifting. I miss planning stuff to look forward to, filling my life with happiness and joy, even knowing those things never quite fill me up. I want to see what trains are barreling towards me so I can put my guard up--a child building a cardboard wall to block a tornado. That's the reality, but I want to build my wall anyway, "at no cost." Ha--what a wild reality.
I want this mana life to be enough, but I am struggling. What if it's not enough? I fear. Is he really trustworthy, forever? I wonder. Will you really give me everything I need? I doubt. More opportunity to practice the trust-filled living at which I am a novice.
I have been praying every day for God to take away my fear and my doubt, my discouragement and weariness. But it's still heavy on my chest--a dark cloud troubling my skies. Where do I go from here? Repeat the truth until I believe it. Surrender. Take the next step illuminated by this candlelight. Be honest about how it feels.
I am reading Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy by Mark Vroegop about the spiritual practice of lament. It encourages following the model of the Psalms to write personal laments: "turn, complain, ask, trust" (29). So, here it goes:
God, I lift my voice to you. Can you hear me?
I am overwhelmed by the trust it takes to live this mana-life. I am scared. I fear the unknown. I doubt my ability to keep up this surrendering posture. I feel out of control and I'm scared. What if I can't do this? What if I don't have what I need? What if you're not enough? Do you promise to take care of me? Forever?
Remind me that you are trustworthy. Put before my eyes the proof of your presence. Be gentle to me; I am just a baby in this discipline of trust. Tether me to you as I'm buffeted by my fears. Center me on your certainty, drawing me back each time I wonder and wander and fear. Help me to love this portion of life you have given me as my own. Teach me contentment.
I believe you are who you say you are. I believe that you are a good parent. I believe you are for me. I believe that nothing is lethal to me when I bind my life to you. I believe that I am safe, that I have nothing to fear. I will cling to you, God. Where else can I go but to you?
Well, here it is, for all it's worth (and I can't tell how much that might be): the disjointed contemplations of my mind, roughly sewn together with the thread I have on hand. I've attempted to write this every day for a week now, so I'm going to let it go now. This will just have to be enough.
Enough. Like this day. This breath in my lungs. This portion of life gifted to my body. This moment and the air, the space, the voices, the music, the knowing and unknowing, the emotions that fill it.
May it be more than enough. May you be more than enough for me.
P.S.
It makes me laugh to say this aloud, but my solace of late has been in worship music. It's been many years since I could listen without a cynical and dismissive response. In the spiritual warfare series on his podcast The Place We Find Ourselves, Adam Young suggests music as a source of strength as we combat the messages of evil in our lives. It's certainly been true for me this week. When I don't know what to pray or say and all the truths I repeat to myself feel empty, music fills me with hope on repeat, like fresh water steadily dripped on the tongue of a person dying of thirst. Here are some current favorites:
May His presence go before you
And behind you, and beside you
All around you, and within you
He is with you, He is with you
In the morning, in the evening
In your coming, and your going
In your weeping, and rejoicing
He is for you, He is for you
"Waymaker"
Even when I don't see it,
You're working
Even when I don't feel it,
You're working
You never stop, You never stop working
You never stop, You never stop working
You are Waymaker, miracle worker
Promise keeper, light in the darkness
My God, that is who You are
AND this worship session withJonathan Ogden that "randomly" started playing as I edited this post, and "happened" to have the phrase "You're teaching us to hear your voice, until we know that you're enough." This makes me laugh and cry at the same time. Praise you, God of the Universe. You're exquisite.
