Walking in the Fog

“We live by faith, not by sight.”
-II Corinthians 5:7-8, NIV

Last night the fog rolled in. To many, that might not be significant. But to me, it is. I live in Colorado.

As a child, I remember the rare days of fog and how it reminded me of being back at my grandmother’s in Pennsylvania, where fog is not uncommon. Those misty mornings when the green, rolling hills seemed to disappear and the world was cloaked in mystery; when the sounds of every-day life was muffled in distinction--like the hushing of a room in the presence of dignitary; when anonymity of the seen was something to be embraced and not feared, like a journey into the great unknown.

I delighted in the fog then. I delight it in now.

There is something about fog that is comforting as well as fearsome. On one hand there is beauty in how you can almost reach out and grab it. How it encircles you with its mystical presence and spins you around, daring you to embrace its arms and accept its dance. Almost teasing you--challenging you--to walk forward and test its boundaries. On the other hand there is uncertainty behind its veil. It disguises the seen and requires that you keep your light aimed toward the ground so you do not run off course.

It is not much different than our walk with God.

Often God gives us clear vision. The day is bright, the path is well lit. The sun is at our back and warms us as we walk. Then there are times when God brings the storm. Those are the times when we need to stand still and wait upon Him. Wait until the tempest passes. Wait until we hear His voice. And in between, there’s the fog. It encircles and encompasses like a shroud--a mask--concealing what is in front of us and requiring that we walk, slowly, in faith, as we hold God’s hand.

So today, as I gaze out my window and marvel at the beauty of God’s fog--reflecting on its significance--I will remember that, during these times when the path is not quite as clear as I’d like it to be, when the quiet is too quiet, when the beauty is as equally startling as the formidable, that by keeping my eye on the Lord, my feet will never fail, and the path which I’ve trod will always lead me back into His arms.

Intimacy with God

Intimacy with God doesn't happen automatically—we must desire it more than anything else around us. Having passion for Him is important. We must be hungry.

There's a story of a young man who approached Socrates one day as he sat by a lake. He greeted the wise philosopher, then told him he wanted to know how to gain the wisdom Socrates possessed. The young man told him he'd do anything to get it. After a moment, Socrates stood up and motioned for the young man to follow him. Interestingly, he walked right into the lake, until he was waist high in water. Then Socrates asked him what he really wanted. When the young man replied he wanted wisdom, Socrates pushed the young man's head under the water. The man struggled, then surfaced, wondering what the philosopher was up to. Again, Socrates asked him what he wanted. The man responded, "Wisdom." Again, Socrates shoved his head under the water. The man struggled longer, then came up for air. For the third time, Socrates asked the man what he really wanted. When he pushed his head under water this time, Socrates held it there for almost an entire minute. Finally, the man fought his way up, and gasped for air. Socrates asked him in that moment: What is it you want? This time the man was honest. He said, "I want air!" Socrates smiled and responded: "Well then, when you want wisdom as much as you wanted that breath of air—you shall get it."

So it is with intimacy with God. When we want it more than anything else—we shall get it.

"Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you." -James 4:8