simple answers come in simple ways

I had a Don Miller moment last night.

On Friday night I talked to my friend Jimmy just briefly about how he was doing, and I was so surprised to hear him say he was lonely. For some reason that's been chasing me around a bit, and I was driving to my friend Lindsey's house last night, thinking about that and listening to Anberlin in my car- feeling strangely unnameable nostalgic emotions. I got out of the car and the sky was so clear- the stars speaking quietly down to me, like they did when Don Miller was nestled into the grass at a ranch in the northwest United States in his book Through Painted Deserts. And I cried. Right there in Lindsey's driveway, and then on her front step, and then at her doorbell- which I hesitated in ringing so I could try and compose myself. I didn't want to though. Those kind of things don't seem to catch up with me as much anymore, so when they do I kind of just want to ride them out.

It's so interesting how sometimes we can go years without clarity- go years living in doubt and uncertainty, and then for thirty seconds of complete silence there can be such complete understanding- the kind you feel in your bones- the kind that makes you cry at Cassiopeia and stand in the dark alone. It seems that I go months or years in total disarray and dismantlement and then- just one moment of sparkling GOOD, and the pieces of the road melt back together again, and the path becomes visible again.

We think we need such complete answers to our questions, don't we? When sometimes all we need is just a moment to catch our breath. Just a moment to stop asking, stop running, stop dodging, and just see the world for what it is- to see ourselves for who we are- to see God for who He really is, not who we have erroneously assumed He was. Sometimes it's so much more simple than we make it.