As a child, God was simple. He stretched out His arms, like long Altostratus clouds. Comforting us, like a blanket spanning heavens.
Yet, something happens as we age. We pull apart His name, dig and pinpoint our faith.
We psychoanalyze everything….as if somehow that makes us holy.
We take that skipping child, clicking a stick along the fence, vocalizing what might seem like non-sensical conversations to God…
And we turn it into finely-tuned “worship”. Fancy lyrics. Articulate understandings. Then label it, “maturity”.
Yet, I wonder…
Doesn’t God adore the innocent? The child walking awkward-like, down paved side-walks? The dancing and belly-rolling laughter of uncontainable freedom? Pure joy bursting forth, not barricaded by man’s limitations?
Didn’t He create us all to be free?
Not free as in….
We work nine-to-five and then come home and scroll Netflix.
But free in the sense that the sky is the limit? The earth has no hinderances? The land is a gift where our feet can explore and take dominion?
Did He give us wings that have become clipped by systems? Labels? Man’s “professionalism”? Textbook definitions?
And where did that child go inside of us?
Forgive us, Father, for making you small.
For dissecting you under our microscopes in hopes to have control.
For boasting in our finite wisdom of a God that can’t be contained.
Have we made you our robot?
“Go”, “Come”, “Do”, “Give”. Barking commands at every prayer session?
Have we isolated you to buildings, church structures, or specific systems that boast and limit us with man-glorifying religion….
Instead of letting you rule and reign over the earth and nations? Giving you alone supreme sovereignty over the sanctuary of our very own hearts?
Oh, forgive us, God…
We have forgotten your limitless vastness, your radiant surpassing glory, your unreachable compassion, your bountiful grace.
Why have we cut you off at the knees?
Made you tiny….Like us?
Given you carnal identities like…Stoppable. Unforgiving. Always Angry. Or conveniently, Deniable…
While you still rule and reign.
You still hold the keys to heaven. You are still the God who bypasses our own dust-like existence and fills us with grace, by the wisdom of your great love.
And yet, we forget you, reject you, deny you, or live angry at you.
We don’t even hesitate to turn our backs on you; labeling you as someone we can manipulate, like other “spiritual” being.
When the mountains still move at your goodness. You are evident through the beauty, our eyes are graced to see.
Forgive us God, for making idols out of religion and worship leaders; men with clear anointings who put a surge through our hearts or leave our mere flesh in goosebumps.
Because you say…
The evidence of your presence is more than feelings or experiences.
If you want to find a Godly man or woman, you say, “Look at the fruit”. You call us to discern by one another’s visible acts of service.
The evidence of your goodness, presence and grace is seen in humble works, and not just on Facebook.
How are we acting in the privacy of our very own homes? Are we living humbly and sacrificially in the unseen spaces that give us no favor or clout.
Forgive us God, for throwing out Scripture, cutting it in pieces, or reading and interpreting it only in ways that most benefit us.
You called us to die. To give of ourselves. To pick up our crosses and follow the God-man who was despised and rejected.
You walked up the hill to Calvary, shed blood for our freedom, then offered forgiveness to the enemies who murdered you.
And yet, we think the gospel is somehow centered around us?
About our own growth? Our temporary self-help “tools”? Our personal development or outward appearances?
We walk around to earn and gain, to grow; somehow believing “we” alone are holy without you.
When nothing is further than the truth.
We are filthy rags, apart from grace. We are sinners through and through, only saved by grace.
And yet, you make us holy. You make us pure. You make us righteous.
Forgive us Father, for ever thinking the gospel revolves around our goodness? Our titles? Or our great efforts in front of man.
As children, we sensed what is pure. We gravitated to what is beautiful.
And yet, as adults, it is like evil rages inside us. Darkness seems to call at every click. It hides behind every corner we choose to not relinquish or ask you for deliverance.
We race through the open fields as children. Picking daisies. Zig Zagging with arms stretched out. Our souls not hindered by anything.
Where have we gone wrong?
When did we become “adults”, sitting on our man-made porches, complaining about the land, cutting down fields and stealing all we can from what you alone have created?
We want life structured and limited, controlled and under our great arm or ideas…Instead of relinquishing our hearts to the one who made the fields.
We stand above, when we used to get low.
We rise in our pride. And in doing so, we have missed the greatness of God, the soil under our toes, and the freedom our legs gave us when they ran without control.
And why have we stopped lifting our arms to heaven?
Forgive us, God.
We put them by our sides. Or hold our Golden Calves, mindlessly strolling through the night.
We have forgot what it is like to be free, to look in the eyes of people, all the while, asking for your eyes to see.
We have closed this big, beautiful world into a box that seems safe. When the reality is, the world is out of control.
People are on fire. The land is in flames. The world is burning with a lust for sin, it cannot contain.
Only you save.
Only you offer grace.
Only you rise above and give your people strength.
Forgive us, God, for not coming near you.
For running wildly away from you.
For putting walls up or labels that try to define you.
Your are our childhood dreams. You are the clouds that reach out, as far as our eyes can see.
Your are the open spaces that announce, the sky is the limit.
The earth? You created it.
So instead, we choose to give thanks.
We give thanks for who you are and for what you have created.
And we bow our heads in repentance, and beg…
“God, please return to us…
A heart like a child.”
