Skip the small talk

I have breakfast most mornings in a local coffee shop. A long, narrow historic building on the corner of Main Street, the café has a long counter, several tables lined up on a scuffed wooden floor, painted two-story-high tin ceiling, big glass jars full of glossy coffee beans, and the best bagels in town (cooked on a grill, smothered in real butter). Anna has my Americano ready in my regular mug by the time I get to the counter. I usually sit near the back, wedged in a corner at a small table with my laptop (or Bible study book, or journal, or a friend). I’ve been doing this long enough and routinely enough that people know where to find me any given weekday between 8:15 and 9:30. At least a couple days a week, one of my girlfriends will show up and plop down across from me, coffee (or mocha or iced chai) in hand. But whether or not someone shares my table, I’ve noticed that nearly every day three or four different people stop to ask what I’m writing, comment on my Facebook status from that morning, show me pictures of a daughter at prom or discuss their latest run or vent or ask advice or laugh and tell stories or even hold hands and pray. I know them by name, or at least by sight. I have some idea where they work or what they do or if (and where) they attend church or if this is their normal day to come in (and where they normally sit). I know who’s working on a sermon, and who’s doing schoolwork, and who hangs out together on weekends. I’m comfortable there, in “my” coffee shop. It feels like home. I know these people.

But do I really? Settling in to pray the other morning, I found myself feeling uncomfortable. The words were stilted, the conversation seemed awkward, and I was self-conscious. I pray, and I study, but my life has been out of control for several weeks and I haven’t given God the time He deserves. I felt like I’d been away for so long that I didn’t remember how to be with Him. At that moment, God brought to my mind these relationships. They seem real, and they are in fact genuine friendships with really great people. But do we know how to go deep? Small talk is fine, and easy, in a large room full of people. But what would be it be like if there were just two of us, sitting alone in a room, trying to express our most private thoughts? It hit me that I’ve become guilty of letting my relationship with the Lord become superficial. I’ve been doing the social thing, talking about Him, saying hi when I happen to bump into Him — but claiming He’s my dearest friend. He has been that before, and He is willing to be that again — when I’m ready to sit down with Him and close out everyone else. When I’m willing to go deep, expose my emotions, and confess my secrets. When I want to spend time getting to know Him again, not in a public way, not in the way everyone else knows Him, but in my own way. When I want to be a true friend, and not just an acquaintance. When I’m ready to drop the small talk and meet God Almighty face to face. He’s already waiting at my favorite table. All I have to do is sit down.

Just keep drivin'

A couple weeks ago, it was one of those breathtakingly beautiful mornings with fog everywhere — white snow, white sky, crisp frost on the branches. I was heading to Indianapolis so I grabbed my camera to try to capture some of this beauty. Unfortunately, as I drove along 32, I could never find a good place to pull over to take pictures. Frustrated, I vowed to take the next side road I came to. It snuck up on me in the fog, and I swung onto it... and, moments too late, noticed it was a rutted, muddy dirt road. Not even gravel, just dirt. Great. My clean white car...

I hadn’t gone far before I regretted my decision, but there was no place to stop and nowhere to turn around. There was not a single house or lane to be found. At first it was just messy and bumpy, but before long, I started composing in my head the words to explain to Tim how I got stuck in the middle of nowhere and needed to be rescued. The muck was deep and sucked at my tires. My car was sliding from side to side when it wasn’t bogged down by the deep wet earth, and the tires were spinning and spewing mud up to the top of the side windows. I didn’t care how clean my car was; all I could do was pray out loud and focus on not stopping. I knew if I so much as slowed down I’d never get moving again. The sludge in the road pulled the car from side to side; my shoulders were tense from gripping the wheel, and I repeated over and over, out loud,“Lord Jesus, please. Lord Jesus, please. Lord Jesus, please!” After two miles, I came to a crossroads (thank you, Jesus!) and the road was paved (thank you, Jesus!). With a deep breath of relief, I turned onto it, feeling stupid and annoyed with myself. I headed right back to the main road, making sure at each turn that the road was solid asphalt before me, and went directly to Indy and the nearest car wash.

Sometimes we’re faced with situations we don’t want to be in — usually because of choices (or stupid decisions) we’ve made. Those are the times we need to look for a side road and turn around, or look for the earliest opportunity to get off that path.

But once in a while, we’re in circumstances that are out of our control. A relative is very sick; we lose jobs or friends or money; we’re misunderstood or unappreciated or wrongly treated. Some of these predicaments are small, but some are all-consuming and life-altering. We may think we can’t bear it. We don’t have the strength or energy or desire to patience to get through, and our hearts are broken. But more than that, we don’t know how to keep going. We’re being pulled down into a quagmire, under the sludge and muck, trapped and unable to find a way off that path. Those are the times we need to keep the pedal to the floor and just keep going, praying all the way. It may be ugly, and it may be messy, and it may even be a little bit scary. But if we can just keep moving forward, and ask God to help, we will get past the place we’re in.

Not now

Not now, honey. Not yet. I know you want to drive, but you’re not old enough. I know you want to sit in the front seat, but if the airbag went off, it would crush you. I know you don’t want to buckle up and stay in your car seat, but I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you. I know you want to go to that party, but there aren’t going to be any adults and I don’t trust teenage boys alone with you. I know that cupcake looks good, Bobby, but it might have milk in it and would make you really, really sick.

Sometimes we ask God for things, and we feel sad because he won’t give us what we believe to be our heart’s desire. But maybe, just maybe, we aren’t ready. It’s not that He doesn’t know we want it. He’s doing it for our own good. The Lord takes care of us just as we’ve taken care of our children, guarding them from unnecessary danger, avoiding risk, doing whatever we can to protect them. Sometimes the thing your child wants is not inherently bad; it’s just wrong for that moment. Babies might put quarters into their mouths and choke; a six-year-old would buy a gumball and have fun playing with the machine; an older child would put it with several other quarters to buy a Coke.

How we handle things depends partly on our stage of development. How often are we simply not ready for what we ask for? Maybe instead of recklessly giving us what we want, God is waiting, possibly even leading us through a process to show us how to be ready. Helping us grow up. Teaching us how to use the gift we’re about to receive. I don’t know, and often we aren’t granted the explanation behind God’s answers. But one thing is for sure. He will answer us, but we’ll only get gifts that are age-appropriate.