Uncertainty

The angel said to him, "Do not be afraid, Zacharias, for your petition has been heard, and your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you will give him the name John. You will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth...Zacharias said to the angel, "How will I know this for certain? For I am an old man and my wife is advanced in years." The angel answered and said to him, "I am Gabriel, who stands in the presence of God, and I have been sent to speak to you and to bring you this good news. And behold, you shall be silent and unable to speak until the day when these things take place, because you did not believe my words, which will be fulfilled in their proper time." 

-Luke 1: 13, 14, 18-20

Hi everyone,

I felt good yesterday. I felt rested, alert, present. I was able to attend a meeting in the morning; go to Jazmyne's eighth birthday party in the afternoon (I got a kick out of telling my oldest niece that she is now "4 times 2" - I love that she is old enough to understand the corny joke); and then babysit my youngest niece, Madison, that evening, which really meant that I got to cradle her in my arms while she slept. I really like other people's babies.

And then Sunday arrived. I am sure the sky's heavy, gray cloak is in cahoots with my body's rhythm. Thus far today, I have been feeling lethargic, a little achy, and a little unmotivated. I am waiting for my small headache to explode. I am waiting for my body's inflammation to flare up. And I am waiting for all progress to be lost.

I am afraid. I am afraid that the Lyme won't ever die, that I will always be dependent on others, that I will be alone.

A friend of mine asked me the other day how I could stay with the Church that has deeply hurt me. She mentioned that if the Church had done to her what they have to me, she would have walked away a long time ago. I have a lot of answers to that question, some of which I will flesh out in future posts, but one of the first answers that came to mind was that we have to accept that life is riddled with uncertainty. If life was guaranteed, I most certainly would not have imagined - let alone experienced - a possible arranged marriage, the opportunity to spend a week at a monastery, and certainly not a debilitating illness.

I had the opportunity to spend some time in Seattle last week. My adventure there included hanging out with my beloved friends, Mike and Kristin. I am a big fan of these two. I met them soon after coming to Imago Dei Community Church. Back then they were just dating, and now they are married, living in Seattle, and modeling for me a marriage that is both healthy and flawed. Somehow it works; they prove that love really is a mystery, that marriage really is uncertain. Sigh.

Mike, Kristin, and I were at Happy Hour (a social event that I'm just now catching on to) and we started talking about why so many people flock to a well-known church with a pastor whose presentation is very aggressive and who tends to draw many lines in the sand.

"Because he brings certainty," Mike said. "So many people are looking for answers and to tell them how life is."

Like the parishioners, Zacharias wanted answers. Not only did he want to know if he would have a child, but he also wanted to know how it was going to happen. Without the help of Viagra and fertility drugs, grandpa and grandma certainly were not going to produce a child, right? I find Zacharias' response to Gabriel rather interesting. Just after Gabriel finishes telling Zacharias about all the amazing things John will accomplish in his lifetime (stuff like him being the "forerunner" to Jesus and helping "make ready a people prepared for the Lord" (Luke 1:15-17)), Zacharias is like, "But you haven't told me how my wife and I could do that?" So then, Gabriel is like, "Um, dude, if I'm telling you what John is going to accomplish, we can assume the problem of you and Elizabeth having a baby will be a moot point by then."

I chide Zacharias for his unbelief, but how many times do I fail to believe? How many times this week have I told somebody how skeptical I am that I'm really in my last six months of treatment? I want to know when I will feel 100 percent and how I will provide for myself. I want to know that today will be a good day. I want to know that my move to Seattle is not going to go bust. And I want to know that everything will turn out favorably. But I don't know. I can't tell you how I will feel an hour from now. I can't tell you if I will be able to work full-time anytime soon. I can't tell you if I will always believe.

Yet, even if I could tell you that I am 100 percent healthy, I would be leaving out most of the story. For the real story is not that two elderly people could make a baby or that some 27-year-old woman could get over Lyme. No, the real story is that God brings out something great in each one of us. From before we were born, He has been writing a beautifully complicated story in us, through us, that makes Himself known and that shines the light on a righteous and holy God who recaptures all of us for Himself.

Inherently, our stories will include uncertainty. God could very well decide tomorrow that I will meet a dinosaur or take a long walk on a beach. I don't know. All I know is that I would rather be in a place of not knowing - of trusting Him - than in a place where I can be certain of my future. Because if I were certain, the only place I could be is six feet under.

A.