Neuro-Physiology and Nervous Grace

God speaking to us is a little more than just myelin and axons. We aren’t really talking neuro-physiology here; this is just the way God communicates with us. It’s like listening to a short wave radio: you take it for granted that there will be some static. But that is why we must be constantly tuning into God’s voice.

I heard his voice when I held hands with a girl for the first time. I heard his voice when she wouldn’t return my calls. I heard his voice in a valley cuddled in the arms of the Tetons; it was a chilly late summer day. I heard his voice in a loft apartment worshipping in song. I heard his voice in a drunk’s face, in a junkie’s veins. I heard his voice in glass of wine. I heard his voice in music and laughter, pain and sorrow. God’s voice is not only in churches or cathedrals, pastors or priests. His voice is in us all and all around us.

The real issue here is that we are just too busy to hear God. You see, God doesn’t like to shout. He doesn’t like to compete with our business or pleasure; he would rather that we come to him and offer him a few moments of our time. No lover wants to beg the one they love to spend time with them, they certainly would never shout or threaten in order to have a romantic evening. Instead the woman will make herself beautiful and desirable. The man will be thoughtful and kind. And God seduces us with sunsets. He puts on a gentle breeze for perfume and wraps himself in forests and streams. He waits for us to notice with breathless anticipation; he is enamored with us.

But when God is waiting for us, the rose petal path to the bedroom is laid out, the candles are lit and the wine is poured, I will forget to put my phone on silent or to ignore the hunger pains. So I am off to the kitchen or I have a fifteen-minute phone conversation about the deplorable state of the church, my favorite band or who will win the Super Bowl. Or even about God. But conversations about God are no substitute for conversations with God. And I can say that but it is so much harder to actually ignore the phone call from my friend Ilene (who is one of those freckled, California dream girls). In fact, I hate ignoring phone calls from beautiful women. I think that they only call me because I am so insecure that I will tell them they are beautiful while hoping that they give me some compliment in return. So if I don’t answer they will just call the next guy on their list and while it is a poor thing to be used, it sometimes feels better than being ignored altogether.

The stupid part of all this is that I know that God would never use me, that he doesn’t want my body or my talents: he just is so infatuated that he wants me for who I truly am. He wants the Micah who only drinks Passion Fruit/Mango tea or who gets mad when people don’t like his favorite artists. He wants the Micah who was checking out a hot nurse at the hospital and tripped and almost fell because he wasn’t watching where he was walking. He wants the Micah who makes idiotic comments at the most awkward moments and stalls conversations with arrogant, meaningless facts. He wants me with my faults. God is not blind; he knows me completely. Yet he is completely okay with the fact that I am a huge screw up. He is so in love with me that my faults don’t deter him; that is grace.