9
Seek and Find

There is only one problem on which all my existence, my peace, and my happiness depend: to discover myself in discovering God. If I find Him I will find myself and if I find my true self I will find Him.

—Thomas Merton

In my attempts to spend more time with my soul, I am simultaneously spending more time with God. I see how our self-discovery is inextricably linked to our God-discovery and vice versa.

Our perceptions of ourselves are not the only falsities keeping us in hiding. Our notions of God are every bit as responsible for compelling us to cower instead of join him in the cool of the morning.

I know this is true of me, especially when I have quieted my life and my soul and I am making the space to listen. Often, then, I realize I don’t know exactly who I’m talking to, who I’m waiting for, who I’m looking for.

In Wearing God, Lauren Winner affirms my sense of ambiguity with the reminder that the “Bible invites us to imagine God: in some very singular ways; in dizzingly hundreds of ways; sometimes, in no way at all.”1 If this is true of Scripture, and I believe it is, then how are we to think of God when we are on our back patios, scribbling down our deepest longings? How are we to think about God in the quiet spaces where we meet? How are we to picture God’s face, if in fact a face is even helpful?

I did not grow up with a man in my house, but I did grow up with the primary image of God as a middle-aged male. When I think about God that way, sitting in my living room wanting to get to know me, it feels kind of creepy, frankly. At the very least, this image does not compel me to intimacy or connection. If anything, I’m uncomfortable. I don’t believe God’s primary desire is to see how comfortable he can make us, but I do believe God visited people throughout the Scriptures in many forms and faces. And so, could I allow my image of God to expand beyond middle-aged male? And, in fact, might God be inviting me to do so?

God knows our stories. He knows I’m guarded when it comes to men. He wants us to be able to see him, sit with him, listen. So he arrives in a burning bush or a cloud or a pillar of fire. He arrives as a dove or a warrior or a child. He arrives as a teacher, a carpenter, a preacher. He arrives as a healer, a friend, a mother. He arrives as a son, a Savior, a strong wind. He arrives incarnate—in the ways we can see, touch, taste, and experience him.

To that end, I asked God to expand my view of his face and his presence. I asked God to help me know him more deeply and fully, to help me let go of the barriers between us. One of the greatest gifts of this prayer is God’s reminder to me that the Triune God transcends gender.

“What language can I borrow?” says an old hymn. And it’s true. Language is so restrictive when it comes to talking about God, especially in the realm of gender. Throughout this book I use male pronouns for God, and—honestly—I do that, especially in this chapter, haltingly, reluctantly. I don’t want to alarm anyone or create barriers for anyone by calling God something that feels like I’m taking far too much license, and causes us all to wonder if we’re talking about the same Person. And yet I find language, the English language anyway, so limiting in this instance.

Which is why, perhaps, God has given us a rich imagination and the gift of so many different forms and faces of him in the Bible. Our task, in my estimation, is to believe this permission-giving God has offered us far more freedom to engage with him than we realize and that he waits for us to come to him so he can show us his love and compassion.2

In his limitless love and compassion, God reminded me of a beautiful image of him: the feminine nature of God . . .

God as someone who creatively engages my senses with beauty. Beauty speaks to me like nothing else. It opens my mind up when life feels small. It comforts me and helps me breathe when my body feels tight. Beauty is my soul language, the way God communicates with my soul. When I lean into the feminine nature of God, I see this wildly creative Spirit that is wooing my wildly creative spirit to emerge. I feel seen and heard and known. I feel celebrated. I feel challenged to lean into this soul language more fully. This is the voice and nature of God that nudges me to follow all that is creative in my being.

God as gentle caretaker. When I am running hard and my body is yelling at me and my mind is swirling, this gentle voice of God is the one that reminds me how to treat myself as a companion instead of turn on myself as a critic. This is the voice and nature of God that pats my arm and pours me coffee in my pink Amore mug and sits me down in my pretty Ikat chair by the fireplace. This is the voice and nature of God that help me rest, recover. This is the Comforter.

And, God as warrior mother. Defender, protector, armed and battle-ready. This fierce matriarch stands between danger and her daughter, saying, “I created you. Your life needs to be about . . .

returning to

celebrating

living out of

not apologizing for

cultivating

honoring

investigating

standing up for

protecting

championing

loving

the way I created you.”

Imagine God leaning toward you and telling you those things. You’d listen. You’d let your longings and God’s love collide. You’d let your guard down incrementally. You’d come out from hiding.

Can you close your eyes and imagine a place, a space, where all of you and all of God dwell? What does God look like? If you can’t picture this exchange, could you ask God to reveal himself to you in a way that brings you safety and comfort?

It is a brazen thing to go in search of God, to seek his face, to keep our eyes open for him, to watch for his works, to be alert to the signs of his presence.3 Inevitably we will have to confront things we don’t want to confront. Both about our perceptions of this Being and then, also, about ourselves, especially if we believe we were created in this Being’s image.

I once heard someone say God is not behind us, pushing us forward in life. He is, instead, standing out in front of us, already inhabiting the space in front of us, inviting us toward him, his arms reaching out for us as we stumble and fumble in his general direction. Like, “Come on, you can do it, take another step, this way, I’m here, keep going.”

Reflection & Expression

What is one barrier that is keeping you from deeper connection and authenticity with God?

God, you are my __________.

For Your Brazen Board

Letting yourself be completely open to what you are drawn to, find an image that reminds you of God.