MIDLIFE CRISIS - Part I

I was once the prodigal, a long time ago. I used to pull off my dress and splash neck deep in grace. I was really wasteful with it. I used to know ocean. I understood boundless. I used to believe it will never run out. But I, like a great many prodigals, have long since become the Father’s prudent daughter. I have learned to sit respectfully at the table and drink God’s sufficient for all my needs grace from a cup. Life is filled with should and, unless I am having a really bad day or I didn’t sleep very well, I usually do. I have grown responsible. I have gained strength. I have become mature. I rarely make mistakes on purpose, tallying risk and reward before jumping brazenly into wrong. I have the beginnings of wisdom. I have faith more than enough to please God. I think, sometimes, maybe I might hear, Well done.

Except lately, that’s not been entirely true. I’m not really that crazy to hear, Well done. Honestly, I’m just not. Lately, it feels like too little, too late, and I don’t feel like it fits. I’ve been licking the skin of my teeth and thinking, Well – in is still in, is still in. Lately, I’ve been making mistakes on purpose.

The truth is that I’m just plain old weary of well-doing. I am exhausted from bearing all things and from overcoming evil with good. I have post-traumatic stress disorder from all the error I’ve had to put in the ground. I have all the symptoms of someone who’s been in the trenches. I’m thinking a lot about how evil you will have with you always – and how life just plain hurts no matter what you do.

I’ve been listening to Jesus, how he wants me to notice that the same sweet rain falls on the just and the unjust, and I’m answering him with anti-Christ words like, I don’t think that’s really fair. I don’t remember anymore what it means when the Father says, All I have is yours already. I want to say, Oh really? Well, what exactly do You have? Because if there’s something I’ve missed, I’ll write it down. I’m taking inventory.

Lately I’ve been taking bigger and bigger swigs of that cup of grace at the table, and looking God Father square in the eyes. Irreverent. He keeps full the cup in front of me – a bottomless, spilling out, running over measure – but it’s still measured. My daily portion. Sufficient for all my needs. I am expected to be mature. And lately He’s been eyeballing me. He knows I’m getting itchy feet.

I say, God, You know all things. I’m still here – I’m not going to run from You, even though I want to. Even though I’m crawling to get out of my own skin. Even though I’m sick in my belly from drinking that cup. But I’m so broken and so bored and I don’t remember what it feels like to choose.

His eyes blink ocean water, and His words to me are raw and warm like blood – All I have is yours. He loves me. Oh, how He loves me. He pushes away from the table – slips out of His shoes and pulls His shirt up over His head. He looks at that spilling over cup of grace and says, Ok, so We’ll be wanting more than that.