Last year Sarah (Alling) and I went to the TWLOHA Move Conference in Cocoa Beach. They had us do this blindfolded maze deal where we were not allowed to talk, which for some reason was really hard for me. I kept reaching my hand out and whispering, "Sarah...Sarah, is that you?" only to get a "Shhh, no talking" in reply. I guess I have an obedience problem, because in about 5 seconds I was again reaching and asking, "Sarah, where are you?" I was groping strangers, whispering, "Oh sorry, you're not Sarah," and kept getting shushed until finally someone grabbed my hand and told me, "You have to be quiet. Now, I'm going to put your hands on the shoulders of another person, and you just need to follow them quietly until I tell you what to do next." I sucked it up and quietly obeyed as we wandered who-knows-where for a while.
I remember being stopped and told to take my hands down from the person in front of me. I was to stand silent and still, just waiting for someone to come lead me to the place I should go next. Now, I'm a risky, dare-loving, world-traveling girl, but for some reason, standing alone on the beach, I started to feel vulnerable...really, really vulnerable.
All I could hear were footsteps moving away from me.
I reached out my hands in front and behind, and everyone was gone. I remember feeling like a little child left alone in the dark, and I softly whispered:
"Is anyone still there?"
I'm feeling that way today. I'm feeling blindfolded and silenced. I'm feeling "sometimes led, sometimes not." I keep hearing these footsteps moving away from me, and like a child left alone in a dark space, I'm whispering to Jesus, "Are You still there?"
There's this story that I love in Ezekiel. Throughout the book Ezekiel's writing about the devastation that is going to come down on God's people. The worst of it culminates when, in a vision, he hears news from Jerusalem: "The city has been struck down." Jerusalem - the beacon of hope for these people - has been struck down. The worst has happened. Hopelessness settles in among the people as they sort out their days in exile. But the story doesn't end there. The last chapter of Ezekiel prophesies of the rebuilding of this great city. It details measurements and cubits, about which we usually go, "Ok, who cares....." But each of these cubits are the baby-steps of restoration. The book concludes by saying that the city will be restored, and "The name of the city from that day on shall be [Jehovah Shema] The Lord is There."
"The Lord is There."
Last year I stood on a beach, blindfolded, listening to the footsteps wander away from me, and I felt very, very alone. I, Tara Gentry, the queen of independence, was gripped by the fear that I had been abandoned, forgotten, and no one was coming for me. After minutes of waiting quietly in trust, the sound of the footsteps turned. Though so many were walking away from me, one set moved again toward me. Whoever he was, he took my hand and moved me toward my purpose, toward community. I had not been abandoned. I had not been forgotten. I had been challenged - challenged to believe, despite appearances, that silence does not mean desertion and that patience has its purpose.
Tonight I'm remembering that stranger's hand and thanking God for it. Though He's not talking, He's still with me. He is always still with me. I suppose it takes the best of friends to be comfortable with silence, so I'll consider it a compliment of sorts. I don't always know where I fit in this story of His, but when I remember He's with me, well... that's pretty much all I need to know.
So, Jesus... If You don't feel like talking, I'll say that's ok. I'll just say I love You and I trust You, and we'll leave it at that. I'm going to bed tonight wishing You'd wake me up with that song You sing. I'm looking forward to the morning. If You don't feel much like talking, I'll still sing for You. I think it's gonna be a special day for you and Me.
"When I awake, You're still with me."
