Written on April 20, 2016. By Shari Norvell
When I was growing up, my dad and I had some favorites that we shared. Horses were first. Then westerns. We pretty much spent our time either on a horse or watching a show about someone on their horse. If the show couldn’t boast a horse, we weren’t watching.
Rawhide, The Rifleman and Bat Masterson were my favorites. My dad also loved The Lone Ranger. I didn’t. I thought he was rude, lol, because he always broke people’s doors down. Actually, I think I still think that. Just one of those things.
I think what I loved most about watching those shows and riding horses with my dad, was that he was an actual cowboy. He rode bucking broncs in his young years. He was an amazing roper. I know this because for many years, we didn’t have cows for him to rope. Well, we had one. Me. I would run back and forth in our arena for hours while my dad roped me. Does this help those who may somehow still be wondering why it took me so long to get my girl license? It’s not easy to overcome being your dad’s cow, lol.
So, the other day I was feeding our horses in some slip and slop from a nice spring rain (just so you know, none of my children have ever had to be cows). As I walked back with mud caked upon my boots, I remembered a spring day years ago.
We had gone to a stock show ( this was not a show about buying and selling stocks) and my mom and I headed on home while my dad went to feed the horses. He told us he was going to take our Appaloosa, Wakonta for a ride before coming home. I knew how long all that took, and was in fact probably timing him, so I could hear all about it when he got home.
It got dark and then it got late. And I got worried. I could tell my mom was too. There weren’t cell phones and such so there was no text to send and get a reply to. Hours later, my dad walked in, covered head to toe in what looked like mud. It was actually quicksand.
He and Wakonta had ridden into a part of the land they hadn’t before, running at a pretty good pace. Suddenly, Wakonta stopped and my dad flew right off. Into a huge pit of quicksand. Before he knew it, he was nearly submerged. He still had the reins in one hand and grasped them with all he had while gasping commands to Wakonta. She responded. It took her two hours to pull him out. And by that time, she was nearly covered too.
Exhaustion was beyond set in when I asked my dad what he was thinking as he lay sucked into the earth, like the roots of a tree. He said, “All I could think of is how big Jesus is?” He went on to tell us that all he could see from the spot of earth that was swallowing him whole was the sky. A sky full of stars. And he thought that if Jesus was as big as that sky that he couldn’t see from beginning to end, then He was big enough to get him out of the little spot he found himself.
I never forgot that description of Jesus. I think of it every time I gaze upon that which hangs and holds above me. And the word that always, always comes is vast. I can’t look without considering the vastness of His Presence. In those moments, I don’t find myself confessing my belief in God. I am found adoring Him.
Today as I look, I am not seamless with Him yet. But I’m reminded that I’m meant to be, as I recognize that I am not alone in my act of worship. For in every corner and cavern where there is life, there is praise whispered. In my place on the edge, I realize that we (the we called creation) are on the very verge of becoming one through the act of adoration. I am the cantor to the cadence of billions of galaxies and gazillions of stars. All named, All known. Just like me.
And today, as I hang upon that precipice, I get it. Well, my understanding is greater than yesterday. He didn’t make me to fit into a little spot in world. He made the world to fit into me. For I am as vast as He is. If it fills Him, it is meant to fill me. My journey is not one of trying to get myself out of the world I was plopped into. It is instead, one of taking in more of all He holds. This world, and everything in it was given to Him. It was given to me. I don’t need to shake it off. I need to gulp it down, until I it melds with my bones and courses through my veins. Until I am vast enough to carry it as faithfully and fiercely as He does. Until there is not one that doesn’t matter. Not one I wouldn’t be willing to hold. In my arms, upon my heart. I am not meant to see the world like one outside looking through a window. I’m meant to see the world, ALL of creation through my stretched thin skin, tight and taut from caring and carrying what is His as if it were mine. Because. It. Is. Because. They. Are.
Journal about a moment when you realized Jesus was much bigger than you thought.
Have you been living in an effort to get out of the world. Ask Jesus to help you grow unto a place that the world fits right inside you. Just like it fits inside Him. And then ask Him what it is you came to give the world.