Sugarcoating life

"Hey, how are you?"

How often have we all heard this greeting and responded generically "I'm good, how are you?" when in reality you are not good. Things have not been going your way, life has not been easy, everything is falling apart around you and yet you give the impression that everything is peachy-keen.

Lots of times I am sure.

But how often have you responded to God the same generic way. Sugarcoating what is going on in your life and inside of you. Just giving him a small piece of truth, instead of the whole mess of stuff. As if we don't think he can "handle" it - that he can't handle hearing the whole truth. That he doesn't want to know the depth of the pain going on inside of you. That if you let him in completely you will become so vulnerable that you won't be able to go back.

So we sugarcoat.

Myself included.

Over the last few weeks my life has been a roller coaster. Filled with struggles and triumphs. Pain and happiness. Fear and strength. It's been a thrill ride I would have rather have lived without. If I wanted that much up and down, throw around in my life I would have headed to Cedar Point.

I felt as if God was distant. Sure I had moments where I could see or feel Him again, but overall, I felt left out in the cold. Wondering where God was. Why I wasn't hearing his voice. Why I had no clarity. I had no clue and I was hurting.

One night this week as I was lying in bed looking up at the ceiling I started praying as usual. Only this time something shifted in me. I needed to let him in on how much I was hurting. I needed to let down my facade of strength. I needed to give him the pure, non-sugarcoated version of what I was feeling inside. I was tired and couldn't be strong anymore.

So I told him what was going on inside. I let him in on my pain, my fears - no matter how dumb I thought they were. I told him everything.

The following night at church it all shifted. Through our guest speaker Mark Batterson and the worship songs we sang, God addressed all my pain and my fear. I could hear His voice again - and I just knew. He was waiting for me to be real with him. He knew I wouldn't be ready to listen until I made myself completely vulnerable to him. And once I did, he was there, holding me up, never once letting me down.

Looking back I can see now that he was always with me - always nearby - always loving me. Just as a parent does. Waiting for me to turn to him.