God is very different from who I thought He would be.

I’m a lot different from who I thought I would eventually become when I first started longing to know more about God, too.

At Sunday school or elsewhere when we first heard about God, He often appeared as a “turn the other cheek” when an enemy tried to smack Him kind of a guy.

And since we are made in His image, I had a vague impression that the ultimate goal of the spiritual life is to become the kind of person who lies down so people can wipe their feet on us.

If that’s the case, then I was blown away by what God spoke into the recesses of my heart that day. God, are you who I think you are? 

Of course not,

is His inaudible answer, and in his fury at the audacity of the question, He erupts as a violent volcano, splashing the earth with ashes of his love.

A volcano . . . erupting . . . love? I can explain because I am a mini-volcano formed in His image.  I haven’t exploded yet. But I can feel the rumble, and I know it is coming. 

And he is edging me on.

Don’t be afraid of your anger,

He spoke gently into the recesses of my heart recently. He comforted me in empathy, the way my dad would rub my back when I was a child, just before I would throw up. You know that feeling just before you are sick when you remember you will feel much better to have the bile removed from inside of you? That’s how I have been feeling.

I had been covering up the threatening volcanic eruption with my best church bonnet and long white Sunday dress. 

Like the person who travels to a volcano that threatens eruption, and pours a bit of water, a shovel full at a time, on top of the huge mountain to pacify it a little bit, I placated my growing anger. 

I shoved the equivalent of a baby pacifier into my mouth at church, turned aside, and listened to relentless chatter. Another shovelful of water, please. Or she’s a gonna blow.

My anger terrifies me. 

I once climbed an active volcano in Costa Rica, la Rincon de la Vieja. Tourists would never have been allowed that close to an active volcano in ultra-safe Canada. They wouldn’t have been allowed within miles of that place. And as I stood at the top of that mountain and looked around, I was shocked at the scale of the devastation. 

An entire mountainside of bare rocks, with the jungle forest beginning abruptly in the valley far below.

Yet scientists know that after the initial devastation, volcanic ash enriches the soil with its dense nutrient load. 

Soil from this ash produces some of the lushest plant life on earth. 

So as God rubs my back, gently telling me it’s okay to be sick, I realize that holding in my anger only makes me feel sicker.

At that moment, the clerk at the checkout counter seemed to silently ask me as she wrapped my package with a smile, “Would you like modern-day slavery with that?¨

And my anger, rightly expressed as love, compels me to take one small step in a direction that opens the door to better alignment with my true identity.

And this anger, no longer stuffed inside but rightly expelled as love, contains the soil that can nourish the seed of hope.

Does anyone dare despise this day of small beginnings?

The Message