God Date

It was a Friday night. I was sitting in my car in the dark, in a parking lot, crying on the phone to my best friend. After telling her things I’d never told another soul, she asked if I wanted her to come down the next day so she could be with me. I told her no, because I knew what I needed to do. I needed to go visit God.

Visiting God is not like visiting the dentist. You don’t have to make an appointment or sit in a fancy chair or wear a bib to catch your spit. It’s possible to visit God anytime, anywhere. But I knew I had to get away from everything, every distraction. I needed to return to the place I began.

The following Saturday morning I packed the backseat of my car up with everything I thought I’d need. A lunch, some water. Candles. My Bible. Pages to write on. Pens to make the words flow. The playlist on my iPod that touches my soul. And blankets, lots of blankets, because I knew it would be cold.

I left my house and drove out of town, to the country roads. I drove to the places I had not been in a long time. Everything was the same, yet different. I had never realized before how comforting I find an open field to be, how divine it is to see nothing but rows of trees and rolling hills and evergreen forests. And dirt. Oh Lord, I actually missed the dirt.

I was going back to an empty place, a place surrounded by God’s creation. When I got there, I had to park and walk down the road a bit, because they had put a fence up. Thankfully, when I got to the door, my old key still worked. The lock hadn’t changed. It took two trips to pack all my stuff in, and I took it to the room that I had envisioned myself weeping in: my old bedroom. Then I had to take a peek around before meeting God. It was my same old house, but it was very different. The oatmeal color of the walls, the soft new carpet on the floor, never used oak cabinets in the bathrooms, and most noticeably, there was no furniture. Nothing. It was exactly perfect, because having nothing around meant that I could focus on the One I came to meet.

After my curiosity was satisfied, I went back to my old bedroom and shut the door. I set a blanket on the floor, lit some vanilla scented candles, bundled up in a comforter, and lay there, staring up at the ceiling. I spoke with a raspy voice into the echoing room. God had been waiting for me.

When I pray by myself, I always pray in a whisper, even if no one else is around. I don't really know why, maybe I think it's a secret to speak with the Creator or something. But lying there, defeated, I knew this was no secret. God knew everything already. More importantly, I needed to speak the words aloud, even though my voice sounded like hell.

I prayed everything. I said all that we both already knew. I explained how I felt, even though He already knew. I stated what I wanted, even though He has His own plan. I expected to cry. I thought for sure I would. But the tears weren’t coming. So I wrote. Instead of focusing selfishly on my own pathetic story, I wrote out prayers. Prayers for the people I cared about. Because this wasn’t about me. This was about love. This was about His plan. It was about me giving up. Finally, after I said my written prayer aloud, I deviated from the script.

I finally cried. Bawled my eyes out. Hunched up in a little ball on the floor before God and wept like the child that I am. I talked to God for a long time, and then I finally shut up for a while so that I could listen.

It was amazing to hear such silence. I was so far from town, so deep in the hills, so distant from other people, that there was no noise. I want to tell you that I heard God speak to me clearly and tell me some secret message. But this isn’t an episode of Touched by an Angel.

I read my Bible, determined to find something. I focused on chapter after chapter of tiny printed font, delicately turning rice-paper-thin pages. Eventually, I broke the silence and listened to the music that praised Him. I stayed until the darkness crouched around the trees and down the hills. Then I packed up and left.

The thing is, even though I left, I didn’t leave anything. I took it all with me. Or actually, maybe I did leave something behind. I left my stubbornness. But I took everything God was trying to get into my thick skull for about forever. Because even though I knew it this whole time, I didn’t feel it. Boy, did I feel it now. This was incredibly real.

I needed to be totally head over heals in love with God. I needed to write him love letters and tell him all my problems (even though he is well aware). He is the only one who can change anything for me. I needed to 100% believe that he loves me, and he is jealous for me.

Man, oh man, is he jealous for me. He wants me to want him just as badly as I have ached to be wanted. That God, he doesn’t give up the way humans do. No, I am weak and I throw in the towel when I see there is no chance, but God, well, he puts in the work. He will work you until he gets what he wants from you, which is love. I’m glad he’s been so persistent through all these years. I want a lover who wants me so desperately that he will fight for me forever.