Wonder in the Weeds
God in My Pocket
I wake expectant. Every morning it’s the same: I’m looking for God to show up in my life in a big way. My feet pound the sidewalks of my life while my eyes scan the horizon for signs of a chariot, winging its way to me. By days’ end, weary from the deadening to-do list, the “Oh well” is tempting. Somehow I cannot allow myself to end this day of expectant hopefulness with, Oh well.
So I get down on my hands & knees and comb through the weeds of my life searching for Him. With my composition journal and pen in hand, I scour the underbrush of the preceeding hours.
And I realize…He was here.
In my youngest’s umpteenth question: “Will you play with me?”
In my husband joining me, unbidden, in clearing the after-dinner carnage.
In my teens asking, “Will you take me here…and there?”
I had been looking for Him in the booming voice of thunder. On mountaintops, in cascading waterfalls, in paint on canvas, in surprise windfalls of provision, in long-awaited answers, in successful opportunities.
I wasn’t looking for Him in the questions…Will you take me here and there?
Of course, God is not a THING to be taken along, slung over one’s back, inadvertently, just in case I need something.
But do I really have this sense that I DO take Him everywhere with me, and by His sheer presence there, His Midas Touch, all turns to gold? Do I have this view of my life? Do I LOOK for the gold in everything?
The thought that I carry God in my pocket is an intriguing, bordering on scandalous, thought. By speaking in this manner I do not in any way minimize His grandeur or might. I do not, in any way, shape, or form, hold forth that He is so tiny I can merely pop Him in my pocket and pull Him out whenever I need Him.
There is lint in just about every one of my pockets. Lint. Dust of life’s wearing. And by “God in my pocket”, I mean:
He is there.
He is in the lint of my life. He is in the weeds. His grandeur, majesty, holiness, and wisdom is pulsing in the lint and weeds of my life. I may not see it readily, or in the moments. If I have to sit down at days’ end to comb through it all to see how He showed up, then so be it.
On my hands and knees, searching for wonders in the weeds, like a child, is not a bad place to be.
So be it.