If there were anything I could ask for, it would be one thing; one understanding that baffles me now. Here's the scene:
I imagine the Lord sitting in front of me, calmly sipping a cup of black coffee (I suspect He enjoys the taste un-tampered by the need for sugar and cream the way I do), reposed and relaxed waiting as I eye Him suspiciously. We've been playing poker for a while, upping the anti each hand, testing the grounds of bluffing. He's called me out a few times already. My chips are down, but I'm not out yet. Mysteriously, the few times I have down for the count, ready to cash out and run for the door, He lures me back in to the game with more chips, promising to let me win a few and earn back the losses. He says He just enjoys playing with me and doesn't mind. I still suspect there may be an ulterior motive. When I am finally out of money, what will the total really be? I'm a gambling junky already though, so there's no turning back now.
This time the hand is straight five card draw, no wilds. The stakes are high, the pot overflowing. This is for the whole shebang. I've got a crappy hand but there are still a lot of cards out there. I try to size Him up, but He's got His best poker face on. I have no idea where this is going.
He stares at me as He grabs His mug and slowly brings it to His mouth, it reads "WWJD." Last night it was using the "World Peace" one.
He hasn't taken His eyes off me. He knows I know I've got nada. I've got nothing to lose, no where to go and I'm already up to my ears in debt, mortgaging the very body I'm living in. It's borrowed time.
He waits for me to speak, refusing to rush me to my bet, my gamble... my great question. He just sits and lets the adrenaline course through me, taking me from terror to anger, to terror again. I squirm in my seat as He won't break the stare I can feel boring into my forehead as I look down, avoiding His gaze. I hate the feeling of knowing He knows that I know that He knows that I know... or whatever. I should throw my cards down and give up, admitting defeat, letting the "chips fall as they may." My stomach churns. I know He probably won't be mad, I know He will probably love me through, not holding anything against me while speaking kindly to me. I know He is loving and giving, but like Jonah, I hold out. This is not theory anymore. This is not niceties spoken before the game started. This is real. It's now or never.
If I show my cards, if I let Him answer my questions, there will be no more betting, no more game. I know I will lose and I will have nothing left to show for it. All guarantees will be gone, lost in a battle of wills, a battle of who's way is better. I guess I already know, but there is something so unnerving of having nothing left to barter with. Nothing left to hedge my bets on. Nothing left to control... to feel safe in.
I look down at my chips. They feel solid and comforting in my hand. I love being able to decide how and when they get played. I have so much more control, I can give as I please and when I win... well the rush of doing it right, of earning something, it's like a drug, the high taking me to the next foolish bet. The crash comes when I make a foolish decision, bluff the wrong move or just take a chance I shouldn't have and I lose more than I won in the hand before. I'm not very good at this poker game, but at least I control my decisions, right?
I've been losing steadily for a while, His stacks getting fuller and higher with my bad hands and rash bets. We've been going back and forth for a while, question and answer, sparring as the game has gone on. I've seen the wisdom in His answers, His control of the game and His generosity with me. He even let me off the hook when I had an Ace up my sleeve. Never mind He won the hand. His plays have been all over the map, unpredictable and uncompromising. I can't get a handle on His decision making. I can't ever get a grip on the game, anticipating His moves. When I think I know what He's doing, I find myself in over my head. It never makes full sense, but somehow, He always comes out on top. It's more frustrating than I can even comprehend.
This is the last hand though, humbled and beaten by the losses, I've got nothing left but a few chips. It's my few against His many. He's got the cards and I got nothin.
A sigh escapes me as I sit back. I didn't realize I had forgotten to breathe. "I'm scared." I say it plainly, openly. "I don't get it. Any of it. Nothing makes sense anymore."
"I know" He replies. Nothing more, nothing less, but there's compassion in His eyes.
"I suck at this game, but if I don't play, I don't win." My frustration begins to build. "How am I supposed to bet on something I can't see? You're asking me to handle every win, loss blindly and with a smile. There are other players I don't even know are changing the game, You're playing dealer and player, and I'm stuck trying to get a handle and as soon as I do, the hand is over and I'm sending chips Your way and I don't even get an explanation!" I stand up and start to pace. "I try to trust the cards You give me, knowing I'm betting on what could be a losing hand. This seems so unfair, the deck stacked so hard against me. I don't even get a few chips tossed my way for the effort! Come on, doesn't trying get me anything? I thought You cared!" I bring my hands to my head, pulling my hair unconsciously (a nervous habit I have). My voice builds its strength as the injustice begins to pour out in a stream I can't seem to control. "You don't seem to care that I'm losing everything here! Every hand feels like another blow I can't seem to take. I know You keep replacing a few chips each time, keeping me afloat, but when does it stop? When do I get a big win? I'm sweating bullets here and You're calmly sipping Your coffee. I've got nothing here, and I have a sneaking suspicion it never changes. You claim You want better for me, but I can't figure out for the life of me what that looks like! Is it more chips, is it better hands, is it the lessons of how to play better? What do You want from me?! I'm trying here!!!"
I break down into tears as I slump back in my chair, head in my hands, letting the tears drip onto the few chips I have left. They look sad, I know I look sad and that makes me even more upset. Without lifting my face, I croak out "I don't know how to hope."
He's quiet for a long while. I can't figure out what He is thinking, but it doesn't matter anyways. All I can hear is the blood pumping in my head like a dreadful drumbeat. Adrenalin and steam gone, I'm ashamed of my outburst as I start hurting all over, knowing I am not as grateful as I should be for the hands I have won. My little faith, my little love, my little trust feels like a sentence to life imprisonment. It's all my fault and I know it. If I could just be more patient, more faithful... I hear the accusing voices in my head as I wait for His response. I'm vulnerable in my ugly state of cynicism and bitterness.
He puts down His cards slowly. He pushes His mug aside. He pulls out His chair and grabs my hand tugging me over, prompting with a quiet "Come here."
Dejected I climb onto His lap. I can't look Him in the eyes. Instead I just bury my head in His neck and cry quietly. He holds me tight, rocking quietly, patiently. My facade has crumbled, my betrayal is clear. I should feel stupid for my selfishness, for my ungratefulness... and I do, but somehow, I don't think He does. I may be ashamed of myself, but, incredibly, I don't think He is. He understands my dilemma, my frustration, my hurt and anger. He never says a word besides a soft "It's going to be okay." I would normally protest even that, but now, spent from the ups and downs of the game and the eventual explosion of emotion, I let the words sink in just slightly. It only makes me cry harder.
Eventually, my sobs quiet and my sniffles start. "You know how much of a mess You are, right?" He smiles as He says it. I can hear it even though I still haven't lifted my head. A small laugh finds it's way out as I draw a ragged breath. "Uh huh." I hiccup as I lift up my head. "Every thing's so screwed up. I don't know what to do. Where to go from here. How does it ever get better? How do I do this?" Now I'm sitting up, looking at Him, fearing what He may say next.
"You're doing it." That answer surprises me. "There is no other way. You bet, you lose, you get mad, you cry, you come to me, we play again. This is trust. You trust Me by risking the questions. I expect nothing more. How can I? You're right, you can't see the other players hands, You can't see mine and on top of that, there is another who's cheating. There is no easier way, no pattern to help you predict the next outcome. The important thing is we keep playing. Every time you lose and you come back to me, letting me be with you, comforting you, talking with you, loving you, you win. I win. We win. I'm proud of you."
I stare at Him as He talks. He's speaking with a passion I haven't seen directed at me before. It's not the answer I thought I would get, but it's the one that makes more sense. It cleanses me in its truth.
"You may get better at the game, you may not. You may win a few rounds, you may not. But they aren't your chips anyways. You are living on borrowed time, money and hope. You don't deserve it, but that doesn't change anything. You are going to lose my money. If I didn't want to be with you, I wouldn't. I choose you. Every moment, every second I choose you over and over and I will again and would again, no matter what. You are always worth it, even in your worst moments, your worst decisions, your biggest losses. Making better decisions, better bets, winning a few hands, it's never going to change who I am, who you are or our love. Only time and experience will change it, but not the way you think. Time and experience will only deepen it. It will only make it grow, flourish and help take the sting away when you do lose big. It's you and me kid. We're in this together for the long haul. I'm not going anywhere. I sacrificed once and finally for you and if I left just because you got angry, didn't love me back all the time or wasted my chips, what would the point of my sacrifice be? I'm with you and no one is going to stop me... including you."
I feel the weight of His words knowing I can't comprehend all of them. Only time will help me internalize them more and more. I secretly know the only thing that will prove it will be my continuing to fail, proving Him more and more right every time. I apologize ahead of time. He laughs and says He wouldn't have it any other way.
After a moment, I hesitantly look Him in the face and choke out a quiet "I love You." He grabs my face in His hands, brushing back a hair plastered to my forehead from sweat and stress. He looks me in the eyes with a mixture of gentleness, compassion and deep desire. He pulls me toward Him until we are forehead to forehead. He closes His eyes and inhales deeply and with emotion I can feel whispers, "I love you...." My heart constricts.
Finally the intensity of the moment slips away. It was exactly what I needed. He hands me more chips and with a wink says "Go waste my money...."
Everyday is a small journey intermingled with the larger voyage. I hate my failures, but know they don't surprise Him. I hate my unfaithfulness, but know the only way to faithfulness is the constant reminder of the need for grace. I can't ever get this right because I'm not supposed to. If I did, I wouldn't even need Him in the first place. My emotions remind me of how human I am and how great He is. My losses bring me more chances to battle it out with Him, trusting He will win. Every time I'm wrong, He's more right. My rage increases His compassion, my frustration increases His patience and my pride increases His love. And when those things collide, I break. Then I break again, and again and again... He is unchangeable, but I am not and that's all that matters. The only thing I ask is the great question: How do I hope? His answer? "When you can't, you don't. Welcome to the journey my love."
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