Understanding God

Since I moved from the midwest, where I've lived my entire life, to the south, I cannot understand a word anyone is saying. It's literally so bad. I have to make my boss and co-workers repeat things multiple times, and even then I don't know what they say half the time. At restaurants and drive-thrus, I would probably accidentally order something I had no intention of getting if it weren't for the fact that my bestie is usually with me acting as interpreter. I'm telling you, it's a real problem. I don't know if it's an accent thing or just a southern way of speaking that my brain cannot seem to process correctly yet. I hear them, but I don't understand a word they're saying. It's honestly exhausting.

Then, the other day, I saw my pastor preach and had a conversation with her. Something incredible happened. I understood every single word she said. After the fact, I thought about how different that interaction was to my other recent conversations. Listening to her was so... effortless.

How come these interactions were so different? How come I could understand her so well, but struggle so hard when listening to everyone else?

But then I thought, well of course I could understand her. I've known her for years and have listened to her voice for hundreds, perhaps thousands of hours. (That sounds creepy, it's just because I've heard her sermons multiple times a weekend + editing videos of her each week). I know exactly how she talks and, probably, a depth of emotions and meanings even beyond the words she says.

So of course here I am thinking about this when I get one of those sarcastic nudges from God. You know what I'm talking about? When He says something like "hmmm... interesting thought. Sound familiar?"

Ugh. Of course He'd take this moment to make it about Him.

But... He's not wrong (go figure, huh?).

I've heard so many sermons, read books and blogs, even listened to songs and podcasts about hearing God. But what good does hearing Him do if I can't make out a word He's saying?

I find myself sitting in that a lot.

The problem is not that I can't hear God. Oh, I can hear Him. I know He's talking to me. But I can't understand a damn thing. I might catch it the fourth or fifth time He repeats it, or I might just find myself smiling and nodding because I don't want to ask Him to repeat it one more time.

And if I think it is exhausting trying to understand the people around me, just imagine how exhausting it is trying to understand God.

Guys, I'm exhausted.

But... am I really trying?

I mean, sure, I'm listening... but am I really listening?

Hardly.

I'm "listening" while I'm clicking through Instagram stories on my phone. I'm "listening" while I cook dinner. I'm "listening" reading a book... or watching a show... or shopping (okay I don't shop, but you get the picture)... or... or...

No wonder I can't understand what He's saying, I'm on sensory overload!

Then I think about how I got to learn my pastor's voice so well.

I listened.

I listened fully and paid attention to her movements and demeanor while I determined when to change the camera shot.

I listened to every word so that I could put her slides up on the screen at the exact right time.

I listened intently while I tried to reconcile what she was saying with her notes in front of me.

And I listened. Again and again. Hour after hour.

I listened to understand.

I learned how her voice cracks slightly when she is trying to hide her emotion and I know how she pauses, takes a deep breath and lifts her eyes up for a split second when she hears God talking in the middle of her message. I can tell you exactly when she is going to go off script and when she knows she's gone too far. I can recognize a lot of things in what she is saying that most people wouldn't pick up on.

I can't say I know God that way.  I just think if I can hear Him, I should magically be able to understand Him. But I don't know His voice. Not really. I know it enough to recognize it, but that's about where it stops. Once in awhile, He tells me things enough times that eventually I get it. More often than not, I complain that I can't hear Him while the real problem is I can't understand Him.

Does He laugh silently when He knows what He's about to say is ridiculous?

Do the sides of His mouth twitch slightly into a smile when He is telling me proud of me?

Does He talk about some things more often than others because He knows it connects with me?

Does He ever go off script?

Honestly, I don't know... but I'm committed to learning.

It's a frustrating process, knowing that in the learning there is a lot of unlearning. There is a lot of listening for hours and struggling to interpret what I hear into something I understand. There is a lot of sitting in silence. In the dark. In places with no distractions. It's sitting with my Bible open, trying to reconcile the words I hear with the notes in front of me.

I don't want to just know God's voice, I want to understand it. I want to understand the emotion behind His words and be intimately connected to His character.

I want to know Him deeper.

And while there are many things I may never understand, I can find peace in understanding what He is saying. That in the moments when I have no other clarity, God's voice is the clearest thing I hear.

She's Still Here

It’s quiet now.

The endless stream of voices speaking into my life… The unending choir, singing a song that defines me. My voice eagerly mixing in the chorus, a constant hum that has become all too familiar.

You’re not enough.
Your dreams are dumb.
You’re not good enough.
You’re doing it wrong.
You have nothing to give the world.
You’re not special.
You’re not creative.
No one sees you.
No one cares.
You’re not important.
You are nothing.

Until finally I get the strength to tell them all to shut up. A quiet plea, that drowns within the chaos. A quiet plea that fades out until I finally get the strength to scream through my tears. SHUT THE FUCK UP.

My harsh language shocks them into silence. I’m a little surprised it worked, but I find myself sitting in silence. I take a deep breath, the first one I’ve breathed in a long time. But the silence grows loud and I find myself wanting the voices back, the voices that can tell me who I am.

Because in the silence, I feel like nothing more than an empty shell. Who am I without the voices to define me? The voices transform into questions.

Do you even like the things you claim to? Or did you just grasp them when people wanted answers? Do you even like video? Do you like reading? Do you even like ice cream? Are you even good at any of it?

I look down at myself, a canvas that everyone seemed to paint on but me. But I know it’s my fault.

I gave them the paintbrushes and insisted they define me.

I insisted they choose the colors and the designs.

I closed my eyes as the paint flung from every direction. A tapestry of colors, none of which I would have chosen. A design that was better suited for Jackson Pollock than it was for me.

I tried to become everything everyone wanted me to be… and the result was a confusing mess that I cannot untangle from myself.

Who am I?

The question repeats in my mind, the answer nonexistent. Surely I am still in there. Somewhere. Under all the paint, there has got be someone in there who is worth it.

It’s quiet now.

I sit in the silence and focus on my breathing.

In.
Out.
In.
Out.

It’s the only thing that feels real, the only thing I can do right now that I know is truly me.

Deep breath in.
Deep breath out.

I feel my heartbeat, the rhythm growing louder in the silence. It tells me that there is still life in there, somewhere. Somehow my heart has held on, a metronome trying it’s hardest to keep me grounded.

She’s still in there.

I can feel her heartbeat.

She’s still here.

upon the waters

Splash.

I watched from behind the camera as a little girl was dunked in the water. A few seconds later and up she came. A smile broke across her face, and I couldn’t help but smile too.

“Rika.”

I sighed and sat back in my seat. I’m not doing this now.

“Rika.” That Voice that sometimes makes me think I’m going crazy. The Voice that makes my heart beat faster. The soft, tender Voice calling me out.

“You call me out upon the waters,” the band starts the next song.

Really? I sigh again and close my eyes. Only for a few seconds, I don’t want anyone to think I’m experiencing any emotion. I take a deep breath and adjust the camera before an older man is dunked just like the little girl. I smile and clap again.

“Rika.”

“Okay, fine. What?” I already know what. I’m already coming up with excuses.

“It’s your turn. You’re ready for this.”

I’m not ready. What does the Voice know anyways?

Finally, the baptism service is over. I smirk a little, knowing I made it through. I didn’t have to do anything hard.

I feel the Voice smirking too. “There are two more services tomorrow, Love.”

I wish I could skip, stay home and not have to feel anything. But I have to be there, I promised I would be.

I don’t know what to do. Maybe tomorrow I will go in the water. Maybe I will be someone different. Someone with no fear or doubt. Maybe tomorrow I would go through with it.

I’m high on emotion. I’m overwhelmed. I’m scared. I do everything I can to block out the emotions that threaten to overtake me and soon find myself fading into the black night.

“Rika.”

I’ve barely woken up and the Voice is already back. Maybe it never left.

“Rika.” The Voice is pained, full of emotion. But today, today I won’t let the Voice get to me. I take a deep breath and don’t respond. Today I will be stronger.

The Voice is strong today. My soul feels heavy. The Voice tells me I’m okay but I’m not sure I believe it.

It’s worship night, and I’m scared. Images of last time start flipping through my mind like a slideshow. Walking in. Emotions running wild, feeling everything all at once. I am overwhelmed. I stand up and watch as everyone around me becomes part of the moment. I can’t breathe. I can’t stay there. So I run. I run home and I once again find myself fighting against the darkness, welcoming the black that overwhelms me with open arms.

I’m brought back to reality as I walk into the church. Today feels different. I’m scared of what that looks like, what that means. I know there will be no running away this time because I am serving tonight. I can’t back out of that, I can’t just leave.

I’m shaking as I walk in. I can already feel it, this heavy presence. The Voice is strong.

“Rika.”

Today, I choose not to fight it. Today, I choose more. I choose not to run.

“Rika.” The Voice says my name gently, and I can hear it smile.

“Yeah?” I close my eyes and it’s just me and the Voice. The music blends into a background track as I listen for the Voice.

It’s quiet for a few minutes, but I wait. I wait in the silence, and I breathe.

Through the silence, the Voice is so loud and clear that I want to fall to my knees.

“Rika.”

I wait. I know I don’t have to say anything.

“I love you.”

I don’t want to believe it, but something in me knows it has to be true.

Splash!

I pull the camera up to my face and hide behind it, keeping the moment at arm’s length.

It’s only been two days since my last encounter with the Voice, but I’m scared to dig in. What would it mean to stop running? Who would I be without the mask? My arms shake as I hold up the camera to record the next baptism. The Voice is here; I can feel it. I try to block everything out and just focus on what I’m doing, but the Voice is persistent.

I hide in the back and try to keep a neutral face. The Voice is doing something and I’m scared. Actually, I’m terrified. It’s Saturday and we’re having baptisms all weekend. I know this is my weekend, I know what’s going to happen but I still fight it. I can’t do this, not here, not now.

The Voice is quiet but close, I know it doesn’t have to say anything. It’s all up to me now, all I have to do is say yes. I hesitate. I want more, I want so much more. But… what if nothing happens? What if I say yes and I still feel empty? What if the Voice is just a game my mind is playing with me?  No… I know that can’t be right. I’ve gotten to know the Voice well, and it’s more real than anything I could conjure up.

The night is over and I have a lot to take in. Deep down, I know tomorrow is my day. I try to come up with excuses, but they all fall flat, even to me.

Sunday morning.

I’m shaking, and only half paying attention to what I’m doing. I’m still not sure I can go through with it. How do I even ask Carly if it’s okay to bail on filming? I still don’t know her well and I’m not prepared to have that vulnerable moment with her. The first service goes by and I know I need to act soon if I’m going to do this. I still don’t know. I don’t get a chance to talk to Carly, and I don’t know if I can go through with it.

Splash.

The final service is halfway done and I adjust the focus on the camera as someone lifts their head out of the water.

Carly walks in front of me.

I sigh. It’s now or never.

Splash.

I try to film, but I can’t hold the camera up any longer. I need to do this. I need to stop being so scared.

I look at all the people. Why the hell am I part of a large church?

I pull the camera strap off over my head and hand Carly the camera. There’s no turning back now… I consider it, but can’t think of a way out. I’m doing this.

I’m overcome, absolutely overcome and it’s all I can do to keep the tears from breaking through. Deep breath. Everything fades away and now it is just me and the Voice. No one else is around. The Voice isn’t saying anything, but I can feel it smiling, I can feel it walking beside me.

I’m brought back to the moment as Carly puts her arm around me.

“I’m so freaking proud of you.”

That about does me in. I’ve never heard those words before, not really… I don’t understand. She doesn’t even know me.

My pastor grabs me and whispers in my ear. I think she says something about being proud too, but to be honest I don’t hear anything she’s saying. I’m trying so hard to keep my emotions in check. I don’t cry. Especially not in front of people, but this moment is about to undo me.

Heather doesn’t let go. I forget that there are hundreds of other people there and her arms become the Voice’s. Suddenly I know love. There’s no denying it in this moment. I know everything is about to change.

Splash.

This time I’m not looking through a lens but everything comes into focus as I lift my head out of the water.

Clarity.

Clarity like I’ve never known before.

And in this moment I know. This is love. This is real. This is yes. And I know nothing will ever be the same.