Sometimes through the worst situations God casts a glimmer of light on the bigger picture, so that only for a brief moment we can see what it is He's up to. For me God has always used analogy to help me understand what He's doing - and through the most painful of trials, be they my own or walking beside someone I care about through their circumstances, He lets me see how it all fits together, sometimes with stunning clarity.
My walk with Christ could be summed up in several different ways, using a variety of analogies to paint an accurate picture. Tonight He's given me the beach. Jesus and I are walking side-by-side on a sandy beach on a chilled, slightly overcast afternoon. We're holding hands - our fingers are laced together and the pace we take is easy.
The waves roll up gently, ebbing and flowing, washing treasures ashore every once in a while. Sea shells and rocks polished from erosion, the occasional clump of seaweed and ocean debris litter the shoreline upon which the Lord and I are walking. Some of the treasures are really of no interest to me, but every once in a while something special will catch my eye and I'll let go of Jesus' hand to bring him back a really pretty ocean-rock or a sea shell. More often than not Jesus just looks at me with love and amusement in His eyes at how easily distracted I can be with something as simple as a rock or a sea shell. Whatever I decide to bring back to Him, Jesus smiles at me and shows me something special, something I never would have noticed had I not shared with Him what I'd discovered. And every time I come trotting back to Jesus with treasure in hand, He laces His fingers back through my own and we keep walking.
Sometimes sea shells aren't the only things the ocean washes up to shore.
Every once in a while (more often than I'd care to admit) I spot something lying in the sand - a really funny shape and color, too interesting for me to not investigate. I usually spare Jesus a curious glance, just in time to feel Him whisper "I wouldn't touch that if I were you - leave it be." By the time the words have left His lips, I've already let go of His hand and am crouching beside the mystery blob of fascinating that lies in the sand. Sometimes I heed His caution and only go as far as poking it with a stick to see if it will respond. Other times I cannot resist. I need to know what this thing is about. I have my suspicions about what it is, but I need to know for sure. I need to touch it. Despite every fiber of my being screaming that this can only end badly, I outstretch my fingers.
Jesus does not stop me. And before I can stop myself, I have my hands full of dead jellyfish.
Jellyfish can still sting you when they're dead, did you know that? Their tentacles still possess the poisonous enzyme that, when they were alive, helped paralyze and digest their prey. Only now it's trying to digest my hands. It stings, it burns, it smells terrible, and I'm struck blind by the pain and horrifying realization that I cannot just wish myself out of this situation. I have no way out but to accept the consequences of my actions. Sometimes I'm so stupefied by the pain that I continue to hold and handle the jellyfish - I think sometimes I do this to investigate it from all angles, making absolutely sure that it is, in fact, a dead jellyfish and I am, in fact, being poisoned by it. Other times I am so embarrassed at my error in judgment that I convince myself I deserve what I'm getting, and I must continue to revel in and seek out pain to punish myself. Regardless of my motivation, I end up so preoccupied with what's happening that I forget I've completely ditched Jesus to essentially play with poison. What's more, I forget that Jesus is standing behind me, watching the events unfold, ready and waiting for me to turn around and show him what I've gotten myself into. With the same love and amusement in His eyes, now aglow with sympathy and understanding.
I reach a point where I can feel Him standing behind me and I can't bring myself to stand up and look Him in the face. Because I expect to see judgment there. Disappointment at my lack of common sense. Embarrassment at my ignorance. Hurt at my decision to be distracted. Frustration at the fact that He has to now clean me up and put me back together. I'm afraid to turn around and see that He isn't there at all, that He kept walking without me because He'd run out of patience for my distractable nature. I'm afraid to hear "I told you so" or "what were you thinking?" So instead I sit, miserable, in the middle of the mess I've brought upon myself. Hurting and frustrated with myself. Embarrassed. Ashamed.
Then I feel a hand on my shoulder or in my hair. I feel Jesus hoist me to my feet from behind me, supporting me now because the pain is, at this point, so intense I'm in danger of passing out altogether. He turns me to face Him, and before I can protest He takes the dead jellyfish from my hands and casts it back into the sea. He then takes my hands in His and raises the burning flesh to His lips, kissing the inside of my injured palms until the pain subsides, until the wounds are all but washed away.
I look into His face completely bewildered, not only by His patience but His tenderness. He handles me so gently when I've failed Him so completely - always so careful to teach me rather than rebuke. He laces His fingers back through mine again, and we keep walking.
I'll be honest, I almost always find the dead jellyfish littering the beach, and very rarely do I pass up the opportunity to inflict much unnecessary pain on myself, just to be 100% sure that playing with jellyfish is, in fact, a bad idea. And while we're being honest, often times if I haven't seen a jellyfish for a few miles, I turn around and sprint back to carcasses Jesus has already rescued me from. I realize this makes me a tad insane, and I don't know why I behave this way. Maybe I'm not totally convinced the jellyfish is really dead. Maybe deep down I still believe Jesus is going to keep walking without me, and any chance I can get to test His faithfulness I seize without hesitation. For the record, it is NEVER a good idea to test Jesus' faithfulness to me. When I do, I end up right back where I started, and the only person it costs anything is me. I miss opportunities to revel in the beauty of seashells when I go back to poke at dead jellyfish. I know this. It doesn't stop me from doing it.
But this...this is how I know God is good. He lets me see the damage done by the poison, He protects me from more pain than I am capable of enduring while allowing me to experience the natural consequences of my choices - but He still manages to teach me something about what I've brought to Him, to show me something special. Turning poison into treasure as only Jesus can.
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