Answers. I scramble up the cliffs after them, snatching at their ankles and almost losing my balance. My fingernails bend as they scrape across the rock's face until they find a notch where I can anchor myself.
The answers stop. They are above me gazing down at my dirtied face, my bleeding hands, and they laugh because they know something I don't, that I won't.
So what do I have to offer?
Somebody told me once that no one needs to know when you're uncertain. We're just supposed to fake it until we make it. Things don't hinge on who we are. They hinge on what we can sell other people. If we can sell the right image, the right reassurances, then we're good to go.
Most people like shiny, perfect things. They like quick fixes (why waste our time searching for answers if someone else has already learned them?). They like to think someone somewhere does have the answers.
I like that last thing. Answers. Real, nitty-gritty answers.
But if you're looking for answers here, you probably should look somewhere else because I don't have them. I wish I did. Or maybe I wish I could pretend I did so I could make beautiful, shiny words filled with exactly what you need or what you want to hear. Oh, I would love to have something to sell you. It would be easy that way. I wouldn't feel like I should fill up when I only have empty hands.
I don't want to pretend, even if people like carefully organized lists and perfectly placed pictures and answers and a semblance of togetherness. I don't want to do that here. I don't want to wear some mask that doesn't look like me. Maybe I'm just afraid of going out on a line and saying something is definitely 'the way'.
I can't just say:
This is the way you write books.
This is way you learn to draw.
This is the way you should live.
This is the way you learn musical instruments on your own.
This is the way you bake bread.
This is the way you decide if you should pursue college or not.
This is the way you grow a beautiful garden.
This is the way you should grow in your relationship with God.
Because I can say something will work, but will it actually work? And if I know something works, but I don't actually put it into practice, what profit is that? Doesn't that make me a hypocrite?
Here's the thing, I sometimes do have answers, but the little, partial ones I find won't always fit you. I'm not you, and you're not me. My answers won't always be the same as yours because we're different. We have our unique ways of viewing the world, of solving problems, of thinking. And that's perfectly okay. We're not supposed to fit into some place we weren't created for.
I don't have perfect formulas. And sometimes maybe I should have more...plotted out plans of attack? But I could always do something more, but that's the curse of perfectionism. You can
always do something better.
There's one thing I do have a lot of. Questions. So many of them, and I pray every day for wisdom so that I may have some more of those partial answers. I don't need to know a lot (although, if God gave me full answers, I'd be okay with that). I just want to know the next answer.
If you're a questioner with a handful of answers or empty hands, you're not alone because I'm here.
And I'm eager to learn. From you. From stories. From music. From Jesus.
Because 99% of the time, I don't have a clue what I'm doing. I'm just scrambling up this cliff, and it's only by the grace of God that I don't end up flat on my face.
I suppose one day eventually my questions won't matter anymore. I can't wait. But if I figure anything out before then, you'll be the first to know.
"I don't have the answer, and maybe that's okay, but we can search together."
