Bumps in the Night

When I turn off my lights—lately around midnight or a little after—I don’t know where I’m going. In my apartment in California, I knew how many steps it was from the bathroom to my bed when I’d get up in the middle of the night. I knew how far to the right I should go to not ram my thigh into the corner of the couch when I walked from the living room in the dark. I knew how far to outstretch my arm and grab the door handle early in the morning. The same thing at my parents’ house. I can’t tell you the actual number of steps down to the basement, but I do know when I’m done with them. It’s just ingrained. I know after dup dup dup dup dup dup..I’m done. I’m at the bottom. I never have to tentatively step around for the next step...is there another one? I just know.

In my new place, I fumble in the dark. I turned off the lights last night, and as I tried to make it to the steps, my knee went right into the end table, and I saw this morning I had a nice bruise to prove it. I climbed up the stairs tentatively unsure when I’d reach the top. I made my way to the bedroom and had to use my arms as feelers. Where was my bed? And then where was my pillow?

I hear people sometimes say, "Well, God told me..." or "God really directed me..." And I know what they’re saying, and I get it. And I’ve probably said those things or things similar before. But to be perfectly honest, it is rarely so cut and dry in my life. God does not give me a ring or shoot me an email and let me know what’s up, let me know where I should go in the dark. I can only take baby steps forward and kind of hope that I’m where I should be.

I guess sometimes I think God feels more like the railing up the steps or maybe even the end table that my knee hit. What’s ahead of me is super dark and fuzzy and unknown. And despite prayer and sometimes serious pleading, no light shines before me. Instead, I just bump around like a fumbling idiot and God gently—and sometimes not so gently—pokes me, guides me from the side. Like the bumpers at the bowling alley.

Some of the big decisions I’ve made in my life have not been because I knew exactly what I wanted. Rather they were made knowing things that I didn’t want. Again, to use the bowling alley analogy, I’d hit the bumper and realize, not such a good idea. Get your butt back over.

I heard someone recite the Psalm 119:105 the other day. "Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path." And I thought, not really. I mean yes, but I think sometimes the lamp or the light is really the railing or the coffee table.