Reaching

Note: My most recent posts have been rawer than I would have ever previously felt comfortable posting on the Internet, even for an almost non-existent audience. In writing them, I have been keeping with the spirit of blogging as "an online journal". I hope to look back and see growth and change, and I hope that even one other person may feel less alone in the walking and working out of their faith. 

It is Pentecost Sunday and I woke up reaching for God. Yes, I can write this not even twenty-four hours after raising angry fists at the heavens over God's absence of late. I woke up feeling markedly better than I did yesterday, and this prompted sincere thanksgiving. I know that God, whether through established natural laws of the universe (hydration + sleep = faster recovery) or supernatural intervention, is responsible for my feeling better this morning. My natural impulse, however incongruous with my mood and words last night is to reach out and say, 'thank you'. 

I am a fickle being prone to outbursts of anger and frustration, but as Barbara Ehrenreich writes in Living with a Wild God, we are made to reach for God and will do so despite our avowed anger. Along with Bethany Barnard, I am "one moment angry with [him], the next begging for [his] help". 

I am reaching for answers this morning. I know I should be reaching for God himself, but in the spirit of honesty, I can't say that I am. I want answers. I want to know things. I want to look at the future and feel certain that something, anything will pan out. I want to know if I can really live out Nietzsche's "long obedience in the same direction" or if my faith will fail. How much of this is on me? How much of it is on God? 

This Pentecost Sunday, I come to God with simply this: I am reaching for You. Please, please be reaching back.