Forget Waldo...Where's God?

I grew up going to church. Not every Sunday...but a lot of em'.
I went enough to never question the existence of God. His existence was fact to me. Even at a young age I knew there was no such thing as a fat man dressed in red that somehow squeezes his way down chimneys. No such thing as a human-sized rabbit that hops around bringing chocolate and cheer every year. No pretty lady with wings that knows when a tooth has been violently ripped from a set of gums and placed under a pillow with the hopes of her not being as cheap as last time.

God, on the other hand...He was a very real entity to me growing up; Real in a sense that I always witnessed others affected by His power. I have seen the hardest of people break under the love and conviction of God at the altar. I've heard countless stories of people at the end of their rope who cried out to God for specific needs and had those specific needs met at just the right time. I have seen rain clouds part over particular areas where sunshine was needed and prayed for. I have been in places where Gods presence fell at such intensity that you could hardly breathe and all you could do was cry for reasons you couldn't identify. God was real and I thought I knew where to find Him. He was at the church and He usually joined us in the sanctuary in-between the 3rd and 4th song.

Growing up I witnessed men and women of God who seemed to be constantly hearing God and feeling His presence. I still see those kinda people. They're usually over 60, gray haired and smile a lot. The men wear black socks with everything including white shorts and white Reeboks. The women dawn themselves in flowered dresses and pearl necklaces. More beautiful than the smiles on these people's faces and more overpowering than the smell of Old Spice and moth balls is the sweet aroma of Jesus Christ that emanates from these seasoned men and women of God.

What is it that these people have that allows them such intimate access to the seemingly elusive God we follow? If it weren't for my fear of getting arrested for pick-pocketing, (I'm to pretty for prison), I would sneak a peak in one of their wallets to find out what a 'Presence of God Pass' looks like. You know what I'm talking about. The fabled 'Presence of God pass'. The one they give pastors and old people. Everybody else not blessed enough to be clergy or gray haired, who wishes to experience the presence of God, must be within close proximity to those in possession of a pass.

Why can't we all feel God 24/7 like these people? Why can't we all hear God speaking? Why can't we all walk around in our cool black socks and smell like Folgers coffee and moth balls? O'K...Your right...That's going to far...Maybe not the Folgers.

The truth is...We all CAN feel God 24/7. We all CAN hear God speaking. And I'm sure, somehow, we all have a constitutional right to wear black socks with everything.

I'm a minister that never got a pass allowing me special privileges with God. I never got a set of instructions that gave me '3 easy steps to feeling Gods presence'. But I have found that God isn't at church waiting for song 3 to end before He can show up in my life. I have found that God is with me all the time. I have found that God is bursting at the seams waiting for me to turn off the TV and listen to all the amazing things He has to share. He's on the front porch wanting me to enjoy the sunset with Him. He's in the front seat wanting to go riding around at night with the windows down and radio up so that he and I can sing along loudly to David Crowder’s new album. I have found that God is as close as I WANT Him and ALLOW Him to be.

In those dark and lonely times when I feel abandoned, I don't ask myself, "Where is God?", any longer. Now I get alone and quietly ask myself "Where am I?" An honest answer always reveals that God hasn't left me...I have somehow, along the way, left God. It's at that moment that I usually start to cry a little, turn around and find that God is right there. Right there pointing at a beautiful sunset with car keys and David Crowder CD in hand.

Copyright "Forget Waldo...Where's God?" 2010 Joseph McCanne