Sometimes I run away from God.
Once, I quite literally got in my car with no destination and started to drive. I had no idea where I was going, but one thing I knew, I was going to do everything I could to leave everything behind. It was dark and cold, the highway was empty, and I was angry.
After about fifteen minutes of driving I realized that my grand plan to just keep driving wasn’t really going to work. Gas is expensive. That made me angrier so I stopped the car, got out, walked into the middle of a field, and just started screaming at the sky. I know, pretty dramatic and cliché’ but I wasn’t sure what else to do with my self. That lasted for about five minutes until I was frozen and hoarse so I got back in my car, went home, and went to bed.
No great spiritual realization. No voice from heaven directing me to the path of enlightenment. No great fish came out of the dark and swallowed me whole. I simply got cold, developed a throat ache, and found my car about a quarter of a tank lighter when I got back home.
That event would mark one of many times that I find myself trying to escape the horrible glory of God. As the years have progressed I am starting to realize that I don’t run from God like I used to.
No more packing and driving and screaming and freezing.
No more flashy displays of angst filled emotions.
I have developed a more sophisticated and manipulative way of running from God.
I simply stop moving.
It’s a pretty elegantly simple way of pulling off disobedience. My son will do it sometimes. If he wants to go one way and I want him to go another he will just go limp and sit down. It’s his way of telling me, “I really don’t care what you want or where you want me to go. If I can’t have it my way neither can you.”
The scary part about all of this is we can be doing it and no one would ever know.
We can sit in Church and be running from God.
We can go to Bible College and be running from God.
We can be preachers and be running from God.
All because we have simply stopped moving. We don’t progress, we go limp, and we say, “God I really don’t care what you want or where you want me to go. If I can’t have it my way neither can you.”
Sometimes I worry that one day I’m going to stop moving and God will just leave me there.
So far he hasn’t.