My 15 minute bike ride to work was interrupted this week when I got a flat tire one evening. This turned my 15 minute commute to a 20-45 minutes commute via bus. On my bike ride, I quickly pass people by and make casual eye contact. But on the bus, we all sit on the journey amongst one another. Some are going to work, others to buy groceries and others just finding a place to sit for the day. If I’m honest, some nights I bike home from work, turn on to Lawrence, and my heart feels so heavy I can hardly keep pedaling. I see the men sitting on their front steps passing a freshly rolled joint, the women walking around and young kids. In a season of waiting and preparation, it is so very clear that this is where the Lord has placed me and this is my mission field. But some night I hear myself shouting back, “This is it God? This is my place?! But it’s so hard. It hurts so much.”
How is the gospel good news to the man pan handling and so high he cannot speak? How can I even imagine hearing the words “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God almighty!” escaping their lips? I can’t see it. How can I be heaven minded and not hurt?
I’ve been wrestling. A lot. Asking hard questions and figuring it all out. Sitting at the alter and waiting for the Lord to speak. Because it’s hard and scary and confusing. How does the gospel transcend into the everyday spaces of my transgender neighbors? How do I speak with the man at the bus stop who starts sharing his life with me and “oh isn’t it wonderful how the world has changed and tells me to be proud of my gayness”?
I don’t have it figured out. I don’t have the answers and I feel like I am saying “I don’t know” now more than ever. But I do know that the gospel is truly good news. And there is a coming Kingdom. Even when I can’t see it and I have to sit in the mess with people on the bus instead of zooming by on my bike. There is a coming Kingdom. And all will be made well.