Bounding upstairs to the bedroom I shared with my little sister, I found her awkwardly wedged behind the double-decker shoe rack in our closet.
She was obviously stuck, feet in the air, one arm beneath her, accompanied by a jelly shoe, dirty laundry, and all manner of little girl minutiae.
Upon extrication, she shamefacedly explained that she had been reading C.S. Lewis's The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, and had noticed a shoe at an odd angle in our closet. It seemed to disappear into the wall, so she thought there might be a door into another world, right in our very room! When she attempted to get into the fantasy land, she fell over the shoe rack and got stuck.
I laughed and teased her, and told everyone else in our family about the silly thing she did. Her eight-year-old imagination had managed to transfer the mystical land of Lewis's wardrobe to our dry-walled, suburban closet. It was so funny and ridiculous!
I was forgetting that just that week, maybe even the night before, I had cowered in that same closet, praying for God to protect me. I was so afraid evil spirits would get me, that I would be possessed if I let my guard down, or say the wrong thing and be condemned to hell. Fear crushed me into panic attacks in that closet. I would hide in its light, crying and praying, wanting to see a guardian angel, wanting proof that I was safe, wanting to escape the darkness in the dark of our room.
With twenty two years of hindsight, I can see that she and I were after the same thing. We both wanted another world to infiltrate our own, and with the faith of children, we thought it was possible. I wistfully realize now that we had better understanding then. What was her longing, but for heaven? What was my longing, but to take refuge in a real, true God?
Jesus exhorted us to have faith like a child. I think that includes knowing there is no 'impossible' with God. He can do anything we ask or imagine. As we age, it seems like we don't out-grow child faith as much as diminish from it. Nowadays, even though I claim him as my God and Savior, I find that I don't ask because I don't trust. I don't ask for fear that He won't show up.
Jesus also said that the Kingdom of God is at hand! It is coming! It is here, now!
But most of the time we don't have seeing eyes. We don't see that the heavenly kingdom is in constant motion, infiltrating this world all the time. Perhaps if we could peel back our curtain of blindness, rid ourselves of the dark glass, we would realize that heaven is at work among us and God is always, always our very present help in trouble. Always, and now.
There have only been a few times in my adult life that God has broken through to me, shown me a glimpse of this reality. They are always startling, dreadful, awe-filled moments.
One time I was sitting under a tree in the mountains and looked up to see an insect suspended in the air. I was suddenly aware of the space all around and beyond it. I looked past it into the blue sky and knew that beyond the blue was endless blackness scattered with stars. I knew it went on forever and ever, that it was immense, infinite. And I felt the Lord saying, "It all fits in the palm of my hand." I was aware of His bigness beyond the universe, and my heart pounded with awe-full fear. I wanted to hide under a rock. I wanted to jump in the bushes like Eve in the garden. So exposed and small.
But mixed in with that fear was longing. I couldn't stand it, but I didn't ever want it to stop. God's greatness threatened to crush me, but all I wanted was to stay and be crushed. I was wholly known, crushingly known, but wholly loved regardless. This revelation was just a moment, a few seconds and it was over, but I still long for it. Heaven was at hand.
I am thankful that he showed me some truth. In the midst of miseries and uncertainties, in the face of decisions and unknowns and brokenness, I can remember that our world is cradled in a mighty big hand. Only a God so great, only the only God, could condescend to care for each soul and still hold all the universe together. It is what makes him God.
It is daunting to know that God is so great, intimidating even. Who are we that he is mindful of us? And yet, that is also the sweetness of childlike faith. I know that God was in our closet, comforting me to sleep, awakening a thirst in my sister. His heaven invading our small world. No matter how important the Daddy, he will always be attentive to his children.
Always, and now.
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