Move fast. It’s something I learned to do a long time ago. Spin the plates I have going. Put up some more plates and spin them. Keep spinning. Move faster and faster. Run back and forth. Don’t slow down. When it’s time, stop spinning that plate. Add three more. Keep things going. Don’t stop.
Last year, I was out on a drive in the Autumn time. It was November, and one of those nights where the cold rushes into town like you’ve been hoping it would for months. I was drinking a Pour Over Venti Thanksgiving Blend from Starbucks, and I specifically remember how fresh the coffee tasted on this evening as I drove into the night. As I drove, I realized I hadn’t been by myself on a drive in a long time. The drive began with Mumford and Sons. Before long, I let silence crowd out the music. But it didn’t seem quiet in the car. My thoughts were louder than ever before.
The previous year I traveled all throughout Africa. Over the past eleven months, I had only been on three trips out of Tulsa. This drive beckoned something within me that I had been anticipating. Questions began to rise in my heart about all the things I once thought true. What does it mean to trust God? Is God who I grew up thinking God was, or have I been wrong about all of this? What does it mean to love after a broken heart? How did things get turned upside down?
As I drove along on this road in the cold of the Autumn night. I felt like God said something to me. I know that may sound weird to you. It wasn’t an audible voice. And someone could write it off as me just hoping something out there would make sense of the chaos in my life. But when I heard it, peace came over me in a way I haven’t really known.
“You can trust me. Even if it hurts sometimes. You can trust me.”
And my heart quieted. The questions quieted. My anger began to melt away, that anger I had for eleven months where I gave God the “silent treatment”. It is tough to give God the silent treatment. God knows what I’m thinking. It was some sort of passive aggressive, “you may know what I’m thinking but you won’t hear it from me saying it to you.”
In the song Fix You, Coldplay sings, “Tears stream, down your face when you lose something you cannot replace.”
I couldn’t replace what I had before. I couldn’t replace what I wanted, but lost. I couldn’t replace the past.
While that remains true, I learned that God isn’t trying to replace those things in my life. God wants to redeem those things in my life.
I wanted all these things, but in the process I found something better than those things. I found a God I could trust.
My friend, Jennifer says that the bridge in Fix You sounds like forgiveness. I think she is right. The sound of forgiveness. The sound of hope. The sound of being able to trust again.
All this was too much for me when things were going fast. When life was too crazy. When I had to add one more thing because everything I had wasn’t enough. And then, I learned in the midst of quiet, in the midst of stillness that I could trust again. Not myself. Not my friends. My God.
Here I am, learning to trust again.