I am completely lost, and I mean that literally, not in the sense of not knowing where my life or my soul is going. I mean, I don’t entirely know where my life is going, but you’re not supposed to, I think. It’s just one of those things. I’m lost a lot though, literally and metaphorically (if that’s even the right word). It’s in my nature, I guess.

Being lost is usually something I would spend time writing about. I do that a lot – write about what I don’t know rather than what I do. Because, frankly, the rule “write what you know” is stupid to even exist and maybe writing about all the things I don’t know will help me understand them. Usually that’s the order my mind goes: Question. Write. Understand.

But sometimes there are things I do understand first. And I have to write them anyway, as a reminder for myself but also for you, dear friend, because I want you to understand them as well.

So, for once, here’s what I know:

I know that the people I’ve seen around here have a purpose – the man walking his dog, the police officers ticketing cars, the women kissing on the street corner. We’re all loved, we’re all here. I know that we’re all offered, given rather, grace. And we all have a habit of using too many unnecessary words to confuse that, but it really is that simple.

We’ve confused a lot.

I recently listened to a man speak about heaven and salvation and it should have been good, but it was disappointing at best. He shared about a man who had recently passed, someone who had chosen Jesus as his savior. And he questioned the man’s salvation because there were some sins he just couldn’t fight off.

I watched as people’s hearts streamed out of their eyes, as they questioned their own salvation. because they didn’t do this or they did do that. But that’s the point of having a savior, we don’t have to be perfect. He isn’t a question, He’s an answer.

Because we all get swept up in battle grounds and sometimes we’re soldiers and sometimes, more often, we’re civilians. We watch the explosions, the breaking of souls – our own at first, and then others, because we don’t always know what else to do. We let ourselves be mended and we can rest in that.

Because this is what I know:

It is impossible for our souls to re-break. You cannot be unsaved.

I found a bench to sit on while I wait. I’ll watch the world around me and I’ll think of the ways I work with it and I’ll know that I am more than that.

Because, while I’m lost a lot, I’m always found. It’s in my nature, I guess.

And that is not up for debate.


The Tower of Babel

They said to each other, “Come.”

The world’s people, all moving as one, came together and they built. They built their own thrones.

Then they said, “Come.”

They named themselves. They defined their very souls. They reached and they reached and they reached. The sky seemed like it was always getting closer, as they made themselves higher. It was beautiful, right?

The Lord said, “If as one people speaking the same language they have begun to do this, then nothing they plan to do will be impossible for them. Come, let us go down and confuse their language so they will not understand each other.” – Genesis 11:6-7

Come, let us go down and confuse.


That’s where I always get stuck.


Why was it necessary to tear down the tower we built for ourselves? Why erase the beauty we created?

Because maybe there is some truth in a few cliches. Maybe beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Maybe in a world full of blackness any shade of grey would be blindingly bright, but that doesn’t make it the sun.

They said to each other, “Come.”

But there was no movement. They didn’t come together, they were stuck together, and they attempted to piece together Comfort and Joy where they were foreign. They built their own thrones out of the golden lies that sheltered their childhoods.

Then they said, “Come.”

They defined themselves by who they were, not who they were meant to be. They never knew a difference. And I think that alone answers any why.

I build my own tower and He knocks it down before it’s tall enough to fall and hurt me. I get angry. I build it again. He knocks it down again. Again, I am furious. I question Him, “Why do you do this?” And he answers, “They never knew.” I realize the difference between them and me: They never knew.

They never knew the peace that is sitting in the arms of Someone enthroned in Truth.

They never knew their souls were called beloved.

The sky never moved for them, they just couldn’t comprehend its vastness.

And they never knew because they never questioned.

There it is. A question. The one thing we were never meant to have to face, that now guides us through every darkened alley. We were created in a world full of answers – a world full of so much truth the questions didn’t need to be. Sometimes I forget that things can be better, that things are supposed to be better. Sometimes I forget I’m not home.

How do I go home if I don’t know I’m gone? I don’t.

He comes to me and invites me back, but I stop to question Him before I go. “Why are you here? Who are you?”

That’s a question they never knew they could ask. They never knew their Savior; they never knew their way back home. They never went with Him because they never understood they were lost.

Confusion stops to greet me and I try to ignore it. It seems a little rough around the edges and I wonder what it wants with me. I expect it to attack me and it doesn’t, but it also doesn’t leave me alone. With every wrong turn I make it is there, pestering me Where are you? Confusion never seems content until everything lost is found.

We are beings made in a world full of possibilities, yet lost and wandering through the dark. Maybe, in this house we have built for ourselves – the one we forget isn’t home – confusion isn’t something God did to us, but rather something God did for us. Because He didn’t just leave it on our front porch and run.

No, the Lord said, “Come.”