I Know Who You Are

 

I know who you are

well, most of you, anyway.

Not all of your specifics, of course, but in broad strokes, I knew who you were before I asked you to complete the reader survey

but now, I have your own testimony to back up my hunches.

I thought I’d write a brief post to let YOU know who you are

because my sense is that many of you feel alone

 

and I want you to know that when you pop over here, you’re among friends.

It’s easy to get to feeling alone, isn’t it? Especially in the thick of life’s battles.

Elijah once thought he was the only one left who followed the Lord but God let him know there 7000 more like him.

Elisha was in a tight spot once and his servant, being in the same tight spot but with less faith than Elisha, panicked.

 

“When the servant of the man of God rose early in the morning and went out, behold, an army with horses and chariots was all around the city. And the servant said, “Alas, my master! What shall we do?”

He said, “Do not be afraid, for those who are with us are more than those who are with them.”

Then Elisha prayed and said, “O Lord, please open his eyes that he may see.”

So the Lord opened the eyes of the young man, and he saw, and behold, the mountain was full of horses and chariots of fire all around Elisha.” 2 Kings 6:15-17

My prayer is that all our eyes are open to the provision and protection of the Lord when we face the specter of the enemy.

 

So, anyway, back to you, fellow adventurers.

I call you that because that is who you are. We walk this narrow road side by side, sometimes taking turns leading one after the other.

I never really tell you anything you don’t already know,

mostly what I write reminds you of lessons you’ve learned and truths you are trying to put into practice.

 

You click to this sight from around the globe, entering doorways on almost every continent.

 

The majority of you love the Lord, deeply, passionately, with zeal.

You’re the weird one where you are. The one who believes it all. The Peters. The Johns. The Mary’s and Pauls. You want to live what you’ve read between the pages of God’s word.

And you’ve put feet to your faith.

You pray. You know God’s word and you apply it to your life. You worship. You give. You serve others. You’re parents, grandparents, pastors, teachers, Bible study leaders, writers, communicators, caregivers, missionaries, and more.

 

You’ve been following Jesus for a long time. The overwhelming majority of you, like me, have followed Him for over thirty-five years. (A good lot of us over fifty years!)

You’ve suffered. Struggled something fierce. You’ve persevered through some horrendous trials or you love people who have.

You care deeply about communicating the truth of Christ to others, about passing on the rich faith you enjoy, about leaving it all here on the mat until you drop or Jesus returns – whichever comes first.

 

You care deeply about getting it right – this whole living for Jesus thing.

You’re not afraid of many things but you don’t want to disappoint God.

Most of us here are over forty (okay, way over forty).

A few of you are younger and I suspect you show up for the posts I write about superheroes, Star Trek, Klingons, Hobbits, and the issues of the day. I love that you’re here. Don’t ever leave.

 

The point of pain for most of us at Deeper is that smoke alarm sense of urgency, the ticking clock on the end of the age, and the gnawing restlessness that we are meant to play a greater role

than we’re playing

and we’re leaping to the stage, not because we want the spotlight but because we’re passionate about capturing the audience for Christ,

and we know we’re competing with an expert fiddler whose tunes set their toes to tapping as he shoves them through a trapdoor beneath his steel-toed boots.

 

We all want more of Jesus.

But we’re not Jesus.

So, sometimes it appeals to us to drift, to settle, to retire early.

 

We’re older brothers in the household of God so we’re tempted to pout, to judge, to curdle a bit, curmudgeon up, grow brittle, leathery, hard.

And we like our hobbit holes.

 

We used to run out like children when Gandalf appeared in the village but now we’re just as likely to groan, to stare at one another over our tea cups and hope that he’s knocking on someone else’s door –

until we hit the trail

and then there’s nowhere else we’d rather be.

 

We care about the culture wars, we’re engaged, but we we’re tired of the same old, same old back and forth.

We want effective action.

And we’re on our knees for the persecuted church, feeling helpless, wanting to do more, striving to understand prayer as action.

We want everyone we know to love Jesus and to love His word. We’re often clumsy about communicating that but we’re going to keep trying until we get it right or we’re home.

 

And whatever trial we’re suffering, what gets us through is knowing that one day, suffering will be over.

One day, we’ll gather in the Great Hall of our Father. We’ll see Jesus. We’ll enter into the forever part of our stories.

We’ll be together to feast knowing there is a chair at the table for each of us.

We’ll tell stories for a thousand years and our laughter will ring out like cathedral bells.

 

But, we’re not home yet.

 

So, some of us straggle over here to this blog seeking company, encouragement, and an occasional kick out of our comfy chairs and back onto the road to the deep, deep heart of Jesus.

 

 Oh, and you over there. You thought I didn’t see you. I know you’re here, too. You still not sure about Jesus. You’re drawn to Him. You feel a desire to belong

But, there’s stuff. Your stuff. The church’s stuff. Other people’s stuff. And it’s still in the way.

 

You’re not even sure why you keep coming back to this blog because sometimes it makes you mad

and sometimes it turns you off

but still, there’s something here that feels like what you’re looking for. (It’s Jesus) Stick around, loved one. We love you here.

 

Did I miss anything? What else is important for us to know about one another? What more would you like to know?

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