Maybe the true test of faith is in the times when the silence of God is deafening. You've once heard His voice...but now...nothing. And that nothing is the biggest something in your life. The silence follows you wherever you go, it goes ahead of you and you find it waiting when you arrive. It mocks you, scorns you and everyday makes you question your sanity. In silence, the very air you breathe is thin. Everything is thin. You feel stretched tight across the circumstance, only millimeters thick - expecting to rip apart at any moment.
The silence of God.... Abram heard it. For years it taunted him as he watched his virility slip away. And Abram learned that God is in no rush to fulfill His promises.
But perhaps, just perhaps, these silent times are where real faith is built. Perhaps it is in this desert where our leaves dry up and are carried off by harsh winds. Perhaps even our branches become brittle and snap off. Perhaps, in this dry land, our roots must search for new sources of water. Perhaps they, with every reserve of energy, reach - extending out, grasping, desperately clawing for a source of relief.
Perhaps there becomes no more fuel for the large root system and so, tiny fragile tendrils are grown to seek out Life. Perhaps it is in these miniscule extenders and their to-the-death search for water that underground something miraculous takes place. These delicate babies work their way through dry desert clay that even shovels cannot break and they find sources of water.
In the process, they have expanded the root system and made it possible for the dead old tree to not only live, but to now grow larger than before. The drip line of the tree has been extended.
Maybe the silence of God produces a different kind of faith. Or perhaps real faith isn't about a few solid, close to the surface, big roots, but rather in little shoots who claw after nourishment that is far below the surface and far beyond the borders of what has been. Maybe it develops an intricate faith web that is far more fundamental than we realize.
Sunday, May 15, 2005
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