I Can Imagine

So it's been a while since I posted, but I had to share this. Not my own, thoughts, but some words that our own, Ron Pelt, sent me this morning. Ron and his wife, Carol, are newer members who have been very active in church and in our Babylon's Class. Ron writes beautifully and occasionally sends me some of his work. I read this morning's offering and had to find a way to make it available to you. I think it speaks well of our God-experience -- and may speak particularly well to those of us who enjoy the give and take of theology and its inspiring, but also bewildering questions. The Psalmist says, "Be still and know that I am God" (Ps. 46.10) -- sometimes we need to pause from our asking, our wrestling, our important-doubting... and just "know."

Thanks, Ron, for sharing. I'd love to have feedback from the church -- and other submissions, as well. Maybe we need a church-wide blog that we write together. Could this be our first entry?

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Sometimes I can imagine myself in the future, having a conversation with God. God is somewhat puzzled and says to me,

“I gave you so much: from the amazing gold glowing orange of a peach slice (not to mention its incredible sweetness), to the taste of marmalade in the morning. I gave you the soft warmth of your puppy’s belly and the fluffy subtle cotton of the morning clouds. And yet you seemed so unhappy much of the time. And when you cried out in fear and loneliness, I was there, although your pain often blocked your awareness of my presence. I have been trying to tell you day after day, year after year, I know you. I am here for you. Come bring me your burdens and lay them here. I’ve got you.”

And God would go on to say, “When you were a young child, you knew all this. You would wake up each morning and wonder what miracles you would accomplish that day. The sun was brighter, the ice cream was sweeter, and you tasted it not just with your tongue, but with your whole face. You weren’t afraid to get your head right down into things. You jumped into mud puddles with both feet, delighting in the simplest things.”

I would be deep in contemplation and God would continue with his discourse. “Your faith in me was simple then. You saw me in the stars you looked up at on summer nights, marveled in my light from fireflies, and played with my hot orange coals in campfires. And you knew that you could do anything, because I made you that way. You could dance, sing, draw, imitate animals, and once you even tried to fly. And your dreams! Oh, your dreams! I loved to watch them at night. They were my favorite movies.

You didn’t expect too much from me in those days. Just for me to be big, really big. You didn’t question my power. That never even came up. You just assumed I was enough. And you weren’t afraid of me; that is, not until the grownups started trying to teach you about me. Then you started hearing all the lies, all the misunderstandings, and all the rules, rules, rules. Why in just a few short months I went from being a close loving warm blanket to becoming a jealous, cruel, judgmental, condemning monster, who sent people to some awful place where they burned forever and cried out in pain and loneliness.

I’m sorry for that. I knew it was happening but I couldn’t stop them, not the way things are set up. I tried to help you think about how silly all that was. And I did get through to you some. Are you listening now? Do you get it? I’m still here, and I still want to play. I love you and I want you to learn to love yourself, and marvel at what a miracle you are. If you can do that, then you can turn and look at others, and see how they are miracles too, and learn to marvel at them, like you used to a long time ago.”

Ron S. Pelt
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