Emptiness

July 20, 2019

The Saturdays the grandkids stay overnight start early and go steadily till about 11:30, at which time their parents usually pick them up. When the full crew is here, they wake up and eat breakfast in shifts, starting with Nathan, who is normally first awake. Little Gemma is usually the last up, which happened again this morning, although we hadn’t finished round one of breakfast before she made her appearance. With vacations and summer camp, we only had the two of them, so the morning went pretty quickly. 

On the way to a friend’s house to borrow a planer for a project, I began to feel uneasy. In the busyness of the morning I hadn’t taken time with the Lord, and somehow everything felt empty inside. Before investing 45 minutes to stain the stairway panels for the last time, I knew I had to stop, read, think, and pray. The empty place inside me began to fill up.

I don’t know how people can feel fulfilled apart from Jesus Christ. I have plenty of faith questions—things I don’t understand, things that don’t make sense to me. I know people who seem to continually feel the presence of God. It doesn’t work that way for me. Walking with Christ is just that—a walk. Sometimes it’s pleasant, like a stroll along a shady path. Other times it feels like Christ is leading me into a desert where the sun beats down and I am parched and burnt. Still again, it’s like climbing a mountain, picking my way through boulders and outcroppings, having to be extra careful where I put my foot so I don’t slip into an abyss. I live as a Christian because I believe the Gospel, not because I always feel it. When the path is dark and difficult, like Peter who when Jesus asked if he was going to defect like so many others had, I say, “Where could I go? You have the words of life.” And tomorrow when I stand before my people, I will do my best to proclaim those words faithfully and clearly, because they are words of life, and who knows who might be there who is dying inside.