He begins by describing the relationship Jesus had with the Father. It's one of utter dependence. Despite the fact that Jesus, alone among humans, is the only person who could truly declare himself capable of living independently of God, he is the only human who has ever fully dedicated himself to live at one with the Father. We are to become "like little children," wholly trusting in and depending on the Father, moment by moment. Miller says about Jesus when he contemplated the separation he would feel on the cross, "He had never experienced a moment when he wasn't in communion with his Father. Jesus' anguish is our normal." (p. 33) This hit me hard. Do I anguish over my lack of engagement with God the way Jesus did?
Unfortunately in our modern era, we have allowed cynicism to replace trust. Even Christian will try to give their cynicism a gloss of religiosity by becoming stoic and acting as if they are fine with whatever God does, that it doesn't matter to them at all. Jesus was neither a cynic nor a stoic nor an eternal optimist. He wholeheartedly gave himself to the Father and cried out with anguish when he saw hurt and injustice. The Father wants us to come to Him aware of reality but fully trusting in Him. Miller says, "I am not called to put on rose-colored glasses and see everything in life as pretty and good and uplifting. Rather, I am called to trust that God sees what I see." (p. 72)
As children, we are to come to the Father asking "anything" in Jesus' name, that is, with his authority. That's an overwhelming promise if we truly believed it. The problem is that we don't. Again and again Jesus says that whatever we ask will be granted to us. But how does that work? Can I ask for a million dollars and expect it show up on my doorstep? Apparently not. Rather we are to have an attitude of ask in expectancy and desire, while maintaining a sense of surrender: Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego's "if not" faith. We desire, we ask for our deepest desires, trusting that God placed those desires in our hearts in the first place, we hope, we wait, and we accept His perfect answer. He said we can ask for the impossible, for "nothing is impossible with God." He gave as an example asking for a mountain to fall into the sea, yet we struggle to ask for renewed relationships, remarkable healing, and the resurrection of long abandoned dreams. We have not because we ask not. What a convicting truth. God wants me to come to him with my real childlike self and ask for anything. So often we think either that God doesn't care about a particular desire, or that it's too selfish or frivolous. But how do you have a relationship with someone to whom you cannot tell your heart's desire. He gives the example of a vacation home. What if, instead of worrying and saving and planning and researching and stressing about our ability to afford a vacation home, we simply told the Father that it's our desire, but that we would rest and submit to His good plan. Let Him delight to provide and "make our joy complete." What a waste to not ask, not because then we won't receive, but because when we do receive we fail to see it as a gift from Him. In all this asking, we must also ask that he change me. I must allow Him to conform me to the likeness of His Son so that my desires begin to align with His. This one scares us because He might actually do it!
But what happens when we ask and the Father is long in answering? We learn to live in the story. So often God's answer is, "Not yet." He's working, moving the pieces, waiting for the time, and so often that feels like abandonment. It's ok to feel abandoned. In fact, one of the charges against Israel was that they failed to cry out to God when they felt alone and hopeless. God wants us to come to Him in lament when we are in the midst of the story. God is not a genie for whom we snap our fingers, and He obeys our command. What kind of relationship would it be if we did not learn to wait and trust? It would not be a relationship at all. In fact, Miller says that we live in the "Desert" between "Hope" and "Reality." This is where our story is being written. If we fall into denial, or determination, or despair, we miss the story He is writing. Rather we are to turn to Him, (not complain to those around us) with our reality and then place our hope in Him. It is in the desert that we experience communion with Him as together we walk the path He has laid out. Not knowing how the story ends is the hardest part. That takes us back to that childlike trust. As we walk in the desert, we must believe "three things about God: First, God is sovereign. He can do something. Second, God is love. He is for me. He wants to do something. And finally, God is a covenant-keeping God. He is bound by his own word. He will do something." (p. 186)
I love the way Miller sums up our role:
"1. Don't demand that the story go your way. (In other words, surrender completely.)2. Look for the Storyteller. Look for his hand, and then pray in light of what you are seeing. (In other words, develop an eye for Jesus.)3. Stay in the story. Don't shut down when it goes the wrong way...When the story isn't going your way, ask yourself, 'What is God doing?'" (p. 205)
We are not victims in our story. We are constantly being made to die to self and trust in the Giver of Life. It is only in relationship with the Father that any of this life begins to make sense and achieve purpose. And that relationship is formed in the crux of the desert as we ask, wait, and watch. He is for us, not against us and delights to give us the desires of our hearts, while transforming both our hearts and our desire.
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