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08.09.26
I went to North Dakota for the first time! I hated the feeling, whatever it's called, of being in a new place heartbroken. Of seeing things he would have liked (or hated), overhearing a conversation, or doing something cool (or embarrassing) and not being able to tell him about it. Things like this are a tangible reminder of the reality that I live in, one that contradicts all the imaginary ones I've constructed in my head.
Sometimes, I'd look away and see the buttes and canyons and prairies stretched endlessly across the distance. And when I say endless, I mean endless. Not like Rock Creek Park, where you can see the end of the forest and the start of the city. In the distance, there is a small herd of bison. In the distance, there is a giant valley with trees at its base. In the distance, there is just more land, flat, untouched, and grand.
"No one who puts his hand on the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God," said Christ to two men who responded to his call to follow him with hesitation. "Lord, let me first go and bury my father," said the first one. "I will follow you, Lord, but let me first say farewell to those at my home," said the second. They "looked back." The counterfactual was part of their calculus. Is the counterfactual part of my calculus?
It most certainly is. Perhaps not to an excessive degree, but excessive in relation to what? I allow myself brief musings about what could and should have been because I feel that I've earned it. We would have been so happy. or Fuck, I should have phrased that differently. I should have told him this and that. Feels harmless, not excessive at all. After all, can I really not have a single thought to myself, a single daydream, after all I've been through? I feel entitled to take time, energy, and space in my mind that isn't mine and use it like it is. It's just a thought. It's just a little abstraction. But does it create in my heart a bigger desire for God? I know it doesn't, but goodness, give me a break! I wonder what other ways my could-have-beens continue to affect the is and will-be.
Hand on the plow, eyes on the boy standing in the distance. I think it's the most normal thing to do. Who the hell would want to look at the land they're plowing? It's hard work. Is anyone plowing for the love of the game? I doubt it. So, of course, you do the plowing, but your thoughts are elsewhere.
Yet Christ demands more from us. He expects us to plow and not look elsewhere. It sounds cruel. "Is obedience not enough?" is the question I asked last year when I decided that I want to try this God thing again. It is less a question than it is a shaking of one's fist at the divine. You've bled me dry. How much more could you possibly want from me? Is it not enough that I'm going against my every desire and will to do what you want?
I wrote a brief prayer during a session about technology, where executives from Rainmaker (as expected), Terranova, and Colossal came to talk about their startups. The juxtaposition of the vast badlands behind the glass wall and a business using CRISPR to revive the woolly mammoth provided for much mental stimulation. I think started praying out of a sense of awe.
Lord, you give, and you take away. This great universe. The valleys, the plains, the stars. No mortal planner, builder, or sustainer. You keep the animals fed. You keep the skies blue and cloudy. Not a molecule outside of your jurisdiction. The bison roam, the prairie dogs scuttle. I've learned about the highest heights of space and felt the hot sand by the prettiest beaches of the nation.
Bound by neither regulator nor physical limitation. Nothing standing between your will and its manifestation. The mechanism of your being, incomprehensible to my small mind, bound by logic and reason.
Still the eyes wander. They refuse to believe that there is more to be seen. Creator of the universe, keep these eyes fixed not on the objects of my desire but on the one who created all that is worth seeing. Owner of all things, help me to think of you whenever I see the works of your hands.
"Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied." God promises satisfaction to those who do his will. Satisfaction. For a need or want to be met, for something to be so fulfilling that we do not turn to anything else. In other words, if I keep my hand on the plow and stop looking back––that is, if I give God my exclusive devotion––he will satisfy. I don't know exactly how it works, but I've felt it before, and I remember being in that state. It's a feeling, an awareness, and a sense of certainty in knowing something to be true. I've started to feel it again, though in small bits and pieces. I'm deeply afraid to lose this great thing I've rediscovered. I had lost it before, hadn't I?
But he who promised is faithful, and even if I were to walk away again, I know that he will bring me back just the same. In Medora, I caught a glimpse of one of the many mechanisms of his faithfulness. The one who tells me to stop looking back has given many other things to look at, some even physical, like nature. It was nothing short of mesmerizing, and I hope to respond in the same manner as I continue to "see" him through other means. Reading scripture, in prayer, through songs, etc. Much remains to be heard, read, felt, learned about, and of course, seen!
"We destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ, being ready to punish every disobedience, when your obedience is complete."
2 Corinthians 10:5-6