I’m writing from a table at a cafe. Writing. Praying. People-watching. Looking around at all the faces.
One guy in the corner hovers over his computer while his food gets cold. Another has his head in a book. One couple looks like their arguing. Or maybe they’re just passionate about politics. There’s a little girl in pink with her hair sticking straight up. Now she’s staring at me with her crystal blue eyes. And smiling. But her mom looks sad.
All these people. We’re all just people consumed in our stuff. Our hopes. Our longings. Our dreams. All people in search of the same thing — the same Thing. The same One. Some of us know it. We’ve tasted and seen that God is good. We know the Source of life and hope and peace and joy.
But knowing isn’t the same as believing.
I can know that God’s good and love and sufficient. I can know it. But believing it means I put feet to my faith. It means that I dare to take Him at His Word even when I can’t see an inch past the darkness that surrounds. It means that even in the face of suffering, I rise up and say, “You are the One my soul seeks. Be my fill, O Lord.”
O God, you are my God; earnestly I seek you;
my soul thirsts for you;
my flesh faints for you,
as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.
God sees each and every one of us. I mean, really really sees. All those secret fears, quiet desires, unmet longings — He sees beneath the painted-on smile. And He waits.
He waits for us to seek Him. He waits for us to bow down, arms raised in surrender. And when we do, and only when we do, *life* can finally pour out — in us, on us, and through us.
Because the thing — the One — we’re ultimately searching for…is Him.
Fill me, Lord…
How would you describe the difference between knowing and believing?