What I wouldn't give some days for a good old-fashioned game of "Hide and Seek." I'd like to hear the creaking of an old screen door as I open it and sneak across the wooden porch into the cool backyard beneath the trees as the sun slides away. It is a game that allows hiding but guarantees being found. There is a joy and giddiness in knowing you are searched for. There is a pleasure in seeking and running to and from and there is always . . . home . . . and safe.
While one player -- maybe your
dad -- leans against a tree with his eyes closed and counts to 10, your friends
-- your brothers and sisters -- go hide themselves behind the fences, up in the
trees, under a parked car in the driveway, behind a bush. And then, when
he is done counting, he seeks. In your quietness, you
try to sneak past him and run back "home" without being caught.
This game, as we all know, is called "Life."
Sometimes we hide. Sometimes we seek. Sometimes we struggle desperately to make it back home unnoticed. Sometimes we hide beyond the established borders and perhaps just wander on as darkness falls and the seeker calls out our name . . . along with "All in . . . All in . . . all come free." And the seeker waits beside the tree, eyes open, expecting all. He knows our name and cups his hands and calls out into the darkness. And on we hide.
If God is the seeker, he waits. People, on the other hand, may move on. There will be other games in other places with other players. In either case, whether you are hiding from God or hiding from people, or perhaps even hiding from yourself . . . hiding is a very lonely thing to do.
When my children were little, they would hide in plain sight, or, at the least, in plain sound. Once, one of them covered his eyes and pronounced that since he could not see me, I could not see him. I think sometimes we approach God that way. We cover our eyes and take a little time out, as if He can not see us because we choose not to see him.
Other times, one of my little ones would dash behind the nearest big chair and giggle and wiggle. Invisible but so uncontrollably happy at the prospect of being found that he would leave a vocal road map. The joy was not in the hiding, but in the being sought. And we do that to God too; we make intentional noises and pray that He will follow them and pull us from the shadows of the big chair and sweep us up like He is surprised and overjoyed. And He does.
But sometimes we duck and turn and weave and wander to points where we don't even know where we are. And then we dig so deep that it is like we want to make sure our cries are muffled. We're not so sure we want to be found. It's not that we think He can't. We just kind of like it out here in the darker places.
When I would find my children in their favorite spots after walking around a bit and pretending not to see them, perhaps even giving them a chance to run full-speed to "home," I would catch them. And, what would they say? "Let's do it again, Daddy!" They wanted "do-overs."
And we would. Again and again. Hider and seeker, trading places on occasion. My turn to giggle and wiggle and be caught running home.
Of course, they're all grown now and their hiding and seeking is between them and their Maker, as all Christians discover. They Adam and Eve themselves into and out of His presence. And, they, like me, most likely plead for their share of do-overs, which come in the form of forgiveness, God's response to confession and repentance.
I'm not a great cook, being fortunate to be married to one. I like to make a few things, Divinity being one of those. A couple of times a year I break out the Karo, beat up the egg whites and make the purest, whitest, dissolve-in-your-mouth candy. Or not. Much as I watch the candy thermometer to the exact degree, beat the egg whites to the stiffest and combine all the ingredients "slowly while beating," the Divinity sometimes turns in to a sticky mess or a hard chalky unappealing block.
Because everyone thinks I make "perfect" divinity, I just do a do-over. I dump out the inferior stuff and keep at it until it's as close to perfect as it can be. And no one sees the messes and the failures.
God wants perfection too. He didn't create us to be sticky-gooey or hard and chalky. We were intended to be a delight to all His senses. The recipe itself is perfect, but it seems to take a lot of doing-over to get it right.
In God's kitchen, that means a purifying process, a washing.
This game, as we all know, is called "Life."
Sometimes we hide. Sometimes we seek. Sometimes we struggle desperately to make it back home unnoticed. Sometimes we hide beyond the established borders and perhaps just wander on as darkness falls and the seeker calls out our name . . . along with "All in . . . All in . . . all come free." And the seeker waits beside the tree, eyes open, expecting all. He knows our name and cups his hands and calls out into the darkness. And on we hide.
If God is the seeker, he waits. People, on the other hand, may move on. There will be other games in other places with other players. In either case, whether you are hiding from God or hiding from people, or perhaps even hiding from yourself . . . hiding is a very lonely thing to do.
When my children were little, they would hide in plain sight, or, at the least, in plain sound. Once, one of them covered his eyes and pronounced that since he could not see me, I could not see him. I think sometimes we approach God that way. We cover our eyes and take a little time out, as if He can not see us because we choose not to see him.
Other times, one of my little ones would dash behind the nearest big chair and giggle and wiggle. Invisible but so uncontrollably happy at the prospect of being found that he would leave a vocal road map. The joy was not in the hiding, but in the being sought. And we do that to God too; we make intentional noises and pray that He will follow them and pull us from the shadows of the big chair and sweep us up like He is surprised and overjoyed. And He does.
But sometimes we duck and turn and weave and wander to points where we don't even know where we are. And then we dig so deep that it is like we want to make sure our cries are muffled. We're not so sure we want to be found. It's not that we think He can't. We just kind of like it out here in the darker places.
When I would find my children in their favorite spots after walking around a bit and pretending not to see them, perhaps even giving them a chance to run full-speed to "home," I would catch them. And, what would they say? "Let's do it again, Daddy!" They wanted "do-overs."
And we would. Again and again. Hider and seeker, trading places on occasion. My turn to giggle and wiggle and be caught running home.
Of course, they're all grown now and their hiding and seeking is between them and their Maker, as all Christians discover. They Adam and Eve themselves into and out of His presence. And, they, like me, most likely plead for their share of do-overs, which come in the form of forgiveness, God's response to confession and repentance.
I'm not a great cook, being fortunate to be married to one. I like to make a few things, Divinity being one of those. A couple of times a year I break out the Karo, beat up the egg whites and make the purest, whitest, dissolve-in-your-mouth candy. Or not. Much as I watch the candy thermometer to the exact degree, beat the egg whites to the stiffest and combine all the ingredients "slowly while beating," the Divinity sometimes turns in to a sticky mess or a hard chalky unappealing block.
Because everyone thinks I make "perfect" divinity, I just do a do-over. I dump out the inferior stuff and keep at it until it's as close to perfect as it can be. And no one sees the messes and the failures.
God wants perfection too. He didn't create us to be sticky-gooey or hard and chalky. We were intended to be a delight to all His senses. The recipe itself is perfect, but it seems to take a lot of doing-over to get it right.
In God's kitchen, that means a purifying process, a washing.
Purify me with
hyssop, and I shall be clean; wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. --
Psalm 51:7
And it requires a lot of "Do-it-again-Daddy."
That is, if we don't just hide ourselves, which is certainly the first inclination when we have embarrassed ourselves and sinned again, perhaps, as had been said of me "against all of humanity."
That is, if we don't just hide ourselves, which is certainly the first inclination when we have embarrassed ourselves and sinned again, perhaps, as had been said of me "against all of humanity."
I acknowledged my
sin to You, and my iniquity I did not hide; I said, "I will
confess my transgressions to the Lord," and You forgave the guilt of my
sin. -- Psalm 32:5
David learned a lot from hiding. What he learned most was to not do it
anymore.
We have a God who does not wander; does not turn a deaf ear; does not flinch. He doesn't hide. In fact, he surrounds us with His presence, which makes seeking Him simply simple. To not seek Him, we have to want to not seek Him. We have to deny Him.
We have a God who does not wander; does not turn a deaf ear; does not flinch. He doesn't hide. In fact, he surrounds us with His presence, which makes seeking Him simply simple. To not seek Him, we have to want to not seek Him. We have to deny Him.
And without faith it
is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to Him must believe that
He exists and that He rewards those who earnestly seek Him. -- Hebrews 11:6
But what if we are so discouraged that we have piled the darkness high around
us like angry black stones to block all vision and progress? He turns the
table and He does the seeking.
For the Son of Man
has come to seek and to save that which was lost. -- Luke 19:10
So what is a sinner to do? We live in a world that acknowledges sin all
the time.
We talk about it.
Report on it.
Point at it.
Rebuke it.
Judge it.
Mimic it.
Teach it.
Punish it.
Enjoy it.
Drown in it.
Die from it.
Surrender it.
Reclaim it.
Justify it.
Blame it.
Deny it.
Just try it.
Run from it.
Embrace it.
Model it.
Fall for it.
Become it.
And then hide from the only answer to it.
And then hide from the only answer to it.
If we confess our
sins, He is faithful and righteous to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us
from all unrighteousness. -- I John 1:9
Confession is pretty much the opposite of hiding.
Now, to be "real," not hiding can be pretty lonely sometimes too. When I was habitually sinning and my depleted sense of self was searching for completeness through sexuality, I had many people in my life. I had those who knew the sinful me and accepted it as something beneficial to them. I had the closeness of those who knew nothing about my sin at all and accepted the face-value me. With me out of hiding now, many of both groups have run for cover. And . . . it gets lonely, as you will discover when you come from the darkness into the light and face the uncertainty of those who have discovered the "is it really true?" repentant you. The non-repentant ones who remain in darkness adopt a "who-are-you" attitude towards you because they no longer need you. Those who walk all the way through with you? What a gracious gift from God.
The light can be scary too. Things that were hazy in darkness can be brilliantly painful in the brightest light.
And then there is God.
Now, to be "real," not hiding can be pretty lonely sometimes too. When I was habitually sinning and my depleted sense of self was searching for completeness through sexuality, I had many people in my life. I had those who knew the sinful me and accepted it as something beneficial to them. I had the closeness of those who knew nothing about my sin at all and accepted the face-value me. With me out of hiding now, many of both groups have run for cover. And . . . it gets lonely, as you will discover when you come from the darkness into the light and face the uncertainty of those who have discovered the "is it really true?" repentant you. The non-repentant ones who remain in darkness adopt a "who-are-you" attitude towards you because they no longer need you. Those who walk all the way through with you? What a gracious gift from God.
The light can be scary too. Things that were hazy in darkness can be brilliantly painful in the brightest light.
And then there is God.
A redeemer.
A restorer.
A comforter.
An ever-present help
in times of trouble.
Don't hide. Cry to Jesus. He is there.
Don't hide. Cry to Jesus. He is there.
Sometimes the way is
lonely,
And steep and filled
with pain,
So if your sky is
dark and pours the rain,
Cry to Jesus.
Cry to Jesus and
live.
-- Chris Rice, Untitled Hymn
Every game eventually grows old and we come in to get warm or seek rest. Hide and Seek -- once all the good spots have been discovered -- is just no fun anymore.
Come to Me, all who
are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. -- Matthew 11:28.
All in, All in . . . all come free. All: you and me.
Hidden so well that even though everyone knows you're there, you just can't find the way back home? Follow the light.
Hidden so well that even though everyone knows you're there, you just can't find the way back home? Follow the light.
I have come as Light
into the world, so that everyone who believes in Me will not remain in
darkness. -- John 12:46
God Bless,
Thom
E-mail me at thom@bridgebackministries.com for 50% savings and receive both of my books for only $14.00. You'll received autographed copies of "Who Told You You Were Naked?" and Surviving Sexual Brokenness, excellent, experience-based resources for anyone struggling with sexual brokenness or who loves someone who does.
E-mail me at thom@bridgebackministries.com for 50% savings and receive both of my books for only $14.00. You'll received autographed copies of "Who Told You You Were Naked?" and Surviving Sexual Brokenness, excellent, experience-based resources for anyone struggling with sexual brokenness or who loves someone who does.
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