In the beginning, God spoke and everything that exists in the universe sprang into being. He said, “Let there be light,” and light burst forth at 186,000 miles per second, both a wave and a particle. He formed molecules to become water and flung the cosmos into space. He set everything in place and set everything in motion. He filled the earth with life; plants and animals. From the smallest microorganism to the largest beast on the surface of the earth. He filled the depths to the heights with the wonders of His creative power.
Then He made us.
He breathed His own breath into our nostrils and made us more than the elements--the dust of the earth--from which He formed us. He made us more because He made us in His image--to our infinite perplexity. And, He makes us individually. No assembly line construction. No mass production. An Artisan creating each individual piece with purpose in mind.
“For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.” (Psalm 139:13)
Almost as if we could remember back far enough, we might recall hearing the Spirit of God whispering over us in the womb and the very strands of our DNA knitting together in joyful response to His creative Word. Our very first cells dividing and multiplying at the divine voice singing into existence an identity which had previously only existed in the very mind of God. An identity that was written in heaven in the annals of the works of God--if we would only be willing to be what He intended us to be.
“My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be” (Psalm 139:15-16)
It is an astonishing discovery to realize that there is a biography written about each one of us taking its place in the great library of Heaven. They are stories about God’s intentions. It is about the me that I could be; not the me that my rebellion might choose. Because I always get a choice. I can choose my own will. I can choose the ‘freedom’ of something else than what God intends. I can choose to write an autobiography and turn away from what the Author of Life wrote for me before the stars were born.
“What sorrow awaits my rebellious children,” says the LORD.
“You make plans that are contrary to mine.
You make alliances not directed by my Spirit,
thus piling up your sins.
Isaiah 30:1(NLT)
I have done this. I have looked for my own solutions and tacked on a ‘thank-you-God’ at the end to add a spiritual garnish to the meal of my making. I have groped around in the dark to find the limits of my personal sovereignty. I could continue to choose my own way; to write my own poky story. But even with the greatest of intentions, even if I work really hard to be good--it is just so small. Trivial to the point of inconsequential. My view is too limited, my resources too meager, my story too insignificant. To say nothing of sin and the death that it brings--my way is just too small. Too broken and foolish. Too frail and given to selfishness and fear. My way is a small, stunted story that doesn’t need telling. A story that feels like a humiliation in its meaninglessness. It is the despair of MacBeth in his most famous speech:
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is here no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
(MacBeth, Act 5. Scene 5)
The World offers fortune telling soothsayers to read signs in the entrails of slaughtered animals or in the swill that follows a cup of tea because deep in the heart of Mankind, we want to find meaning in the story. We want direction to know that we are going the right way. That is why fiction offers its protagonists the convention of a spirit guide. We need the wise old fellow in the pointed hat, or the cheshire cat grin to point us in the direction that advances the plot. In Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland, Alice has the following exchange with her enigmatic guide.
“Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?”
“That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,” said the Cat.
“Oh, I don’t much care where--” said Alice.
“Then it doesn’t matter which way you go,” said the Cat.
As an author myself, I can tell you how difficult it is to make characters and circumstances intersect in a strategic way that advances the story. It involves holding a hundred different strands in your mind and keeping track of each one, weaving them in and out of the narrative with just the right amount of tension; just the right amount of exposure, and at just the right time. It requires identifying which strands are dead ends and need to be discarded before you spend months trying to make them work. It is complicated and nit picky work that involves a wide view for the big picture and precision attention for the smallest of details. In the best stories, there isn’t any bloat. Everything that happens, everything that is said or done, happens for a reason--it contributes to the overall picture. Nothing is pointless. Everything has meaning. It always strikes me, then, that Scripture describes God as the Author of Life; and here is the natural world thriving in a balance of synchronization, woven together in a mighty design of epic proportions. Each life a strand with a story in heaven--a story of what could be--but so often isn’t.
For the gate is small and the way is narrow that leads to life, and there are few who find it.”
(Matthew 7:14)
Life rarely feels like stories do--the intersections are much further apart and we can’t see how people have been strategically placed or the role that they play. Suffering always feels pointless. We want meaning but we balk that Someone else might have expectations that we follow His design. So, we--like children--figure we’ll go anywhere but there. Alice’s Cheshire Cat--exasperating as he is-- reveals the flaw in Alice’s thinking. Getting anywhere is easy. Getting somewhere requires direction and a purpose.
“Only a few find the way, some don’t recognize it when they do --some--don’t ever want to.”
- The Cheshire Cat
But if God is the Author and there is a story written for me to live (if I’m willing) then it follows that it is possible to live a life of strategic intersections; so that the you see plot, instead of a random aggregation of matter + time + chance. If there is a story written in heaven about you, then it is possible to have everything that happens go somewhere-- mean something--build toward the purpose of the grand design, rather than the feverish tangential trail of someone who doesn’t care where they end up.
“Your hands made me and formed me; give me understanding to learn your commands.”
Psalm 119:73
In John 16:7 Jesus told His disciples, “But the fact of the matter is that it is best for you that I go away, for if I don’t, the Comforter won’t come. If I do, he will--for I will send him to you.” (The Living Bible) It boggles the mind to consider that Jesus says there is something better for us than to have Him physically present with us on the earth. What is better--He says--is to have the Holy Spirit. But the Holy Spirit gets held at arms length because we’re worried he might show up and be weird. But God didn’t call us to weirdness. He calls us to holiness. He called us to be like Him.
Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying,
“This is the way; walk in it”. Isaiah 30:21 (NIV)
And He promised that He would show us how.
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