Esther Carpenter

What are you doing here?

As I lay in my bed one night last week, the Christmas holiday behind me, I craved a closeness to God that I didn’t feel. I wanted to pray but was hesitant to start.

Then the soft sound of a gentle whisper spoke to me, saying, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”

It was the question from the passage in Kings that I had read just that morning. Now it echoed in my heart. “What are you doing here…?”

Over and over, I heard it in my soul. Kind, tender even, but persistent and with a touch of disappointment. I lay ever so still, listening to that voice. Then I asked the question to myself. “What was I doing here?”

I think of my relationship with the Lord as being much like that of those whom I love here on earth. There is a kind of ebb and flow to relationships. Some days the feelings of love are there, and a compassionate kindness, warm and fuzzy, showers those I interact with. Then there are days where I live out of the commitment that I have made to love others as Jesus loves me, with no feelings in sight.

The past few days have certainly been more of an ebb than a flow between the Lord and me, and I know it is my fault. While the holidays were busy, and the house was full of people, presents, and floor beds, my Father made it possible for me to still find a quiet corner here and there where I could pause and meet with him.

I could have, but most of the time, I didn’t.

There. I said it. It sounds terrible. It is terrible.

I say that I celebrate Christmas by remembering Jesus’ birth, thankful that he came to earth to save me from my sins and have a relationship with me. Now I have mostly ignored him. Rather than talking with him in the few quiet moments I was granted, delighting in the friendship we share, I planned and plotted my future writing, weaving together a story that combines that of the life of my great-grandmother with my own.

I know it doesn’t sound like a big deal, but in my heart, I knew my Father wanted me to shelf my story for a while. I cannot write if I don’t immerse myself in the emotion of the moment, and so it consumes me. And this weekend he wanted all my attention. He wanted to spend time with me. But I wanted to do what I wanted to do. I chose me over him. That was the problem.

Now I feel him calling to me with the simple question I had read in the quiet of the morning.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper into the darkness. I’m sorry. Again.

Days pass, the kids are gone, and the house is once again restored to order. I feel the change from ebb to flow in my time with God. I go about my daily chores, but the question stays with me. I really don’t want to forget it. What am I doing here? It is a good question to carry into the new year, one with which to govern my days.  It applies to all areas of my life.

I feel the centuries shrink as my heart connects to Elijah’s. His struggle was different from mine but the voice that came to him after the wind, the earthquake, and the fire, is the very same voice that came to me after the commotion of the holiday had passed. We both heard the same gentle whisper of Love, drawing us to the heart of God, causing us to pause and refocus. Elijah needed reassurance that he was not the only one serving God in his generation. I needed to bring my heart back into a place of repentance and submission before God so that he could continue to use me in my generation.

What about you?

Have you stood at the mouth of your cave, watching the windstorm, the earthquake, and the fire? Are you discouraged, feeling alone in your journey like Elijah? Or are you more like me, determined to go your own way today, doing what you want to do?

And at the end of the day, have you heard a gentle whisper, asking, “What are you doing here?”

If so, lean into it. Embrace it. Answer the question honestly. It is the voice of your very own loving Heavenly Father. He wants to lead you along the best pathway for your life. He is advising you and watching over you. His gentle whisper is his way of leading you back to his heart, reorienting your thinking, and, if necessary, making you willing to follow his way, rather than your own.

Sometimes the Lord may be in the earthquake, the wind, and the fire. More often, he uses those things to remind us of how big he is and how small we are. And then he meets our smallness with a small, soft voice of his own, sometimes directing us, at other times correcting us, but always, always reassuring us of his love and forgiveness. Because he doesn’t like when our relationship with him has more ebb than flow to it either.

And so, because I want our relationship to experience a flow this year, and because I know how prone I am to forgetting and going my own way, I wrote in big red letters on my Bible reading plan where I will see it every day…

“What am I doing here?”

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