A Friend is Someone Who Likes You

When God Says You Belong

A certain acquaintance of mine is a freaking genius. She’s a brilliant writer and thinker. I often find myself wishing that I’d thought of whatever gems she puts out and wishing that we were closer friends. Trouble is, I don’t think she really likes me.

This isn’t the first time I’ve been in this position. I’ve always had a fascination with people whose life work knocks my socks off. I want to sit down with that person, quiz them about their talents and gifts and then ask for their autograph. While I’ve received polite postcards from some celebs that I admire, I doubt I’ll be meeting any of them, much less become their new best friend. Sigh, and I’m still a Paul girl no matter what.

When it comes to God, I often feel the same way. As if God is politely putting up with me, like if God were totally honest, he’d admit that although I am loved, I’m on the down ballot side of like.

Of course, I know it’s nonsense. But my heart still aches.

My heart aches. Although I prayed the sinner’s prayer long ago, I was pretty much just going through the motions. I found it impossible to fall in love with a belief. You know, the stuff of the creed. I can recite it, but my heart says, “Meh.”

The creed doesn’t help much when I watch my sweet husband struggle through injuries that might kill a lesser Marine. Belief isn’t comforting while my sons kill themselves one day at a time, while I cry out in the night that I can’t take any more disasters. Belief doesn’t cut it for me.

Where do I run when my world falls apart? To God out there somewhere, busy keeping the universe humming? To a guy who 2k years ago came alive from the dead but somehow never shows Himself to me? To God who hands out healing and prosperity to a lucky few and lets the rest suffer? Sorry, no can do.

One of my childhood books was titled A Friend is Someone Who Likes You. I’ve never stopped believing this, but in so many social situations I’m absolutely awkward. I have impenetrable armor that keeps others from finding out that I am a total fraud, with high ambition wedded to second-best talent. Not to mention a family rife with not-so-normal situations.

When will you fall into your lover’s arms?

That genius acquaintance would reject me if she knew the truth. Yet God knows my every thought. Why can’t I believe God likes me?

Maybe I took a wrong turn somewhere along the way. I have believed, but not belonged.

As long as I keep thinking that God is tolerating me, but oy that girl has some crazy ideas, I cannot belong. As long as I think that people I admire spend time thinking about how to avoid me, I can’t belong. If I insist on counting all my flaws, my crippled places and my penchant for self-loathing, I won’t belong to anything but suffering.

And suffering is not from God. While I concentrate on eating worms, here’s God, so close I feel breath on my cheek. My litany of complaints is interrupted by a Song of Solomon singing in my ear. Even lilies in the field sway in a breeze that shakes its head, saying “when will you just fall into your lover’s arms?”

Every single time, I’m astonished. That anyone or anything thinks I’m better than sliced bread. Yet here’s God, beckoning. Patiently plastering over the cracked and wounded places in my heart. Reassuring me that God’s universal love also translates to a Creator who likes me. Now that’s belonging.

I still think God raises eyebrows at some of my nuttier ideas—like that time I wore Cranky Cat’s “Got Crankytude?” buttons to a conference and not one person wanted one. But God doesn’t seem to mind that I am not a genius, stable or otherwise. I’m just a seeker of belonging, often a seeker of belongings (where did I leave my keys anyway?)

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As I thread my way through my husband’s illness, my sons’ mental health challenges and embrace my aging body, even I don’t want to belong to my messy life. But God makes room for me and you if we only can see our way past believing and onto true belonging.

Belonging doesn’t constantly remind you of how far you missed the mark. Nor does belonging ever accidentally leave you off the guest list or say don’t call us, we’ll call you. Belonging means that God is serious about loving you and it’s up to you to embrace that love.

I may always doubt myself, hate my circumstances and feel inadequate among geniuses. But as I leap out of the frying pan of belief and into the fire of belonging, I get the feeling that God has enough love and like for everyone. God is closer than I thought, not some faraway concept that commands me to believe.

Heaven isn’t out there. It’s right here. And God isn’t laughing behind your back or posting embarrassing memes about your latest snafu. You are loved. And you are liked.