Fall on Lake Orange

ONCE AND THEN

Melody Harrell
Nov 6 · 5 min read

From “Miracles and Other Reasonable Things” by Sarah Bessey

Every time I build an edifice for God to live within, God transcends it while still abiding within it. This has been the story the whole way through my life; this particular story has been no different.

It is always the shore and the ocean, the gate to both home and wilderness. Just when I feel that I know who God is, God unbecomes that vision and remakes. Just when I am certain that I will always experience God in the same way, a new path opens.

Once upon a time, I met with God in daily quiet time devotions marked by the days of the week and satin bookmarks. And then I didn’t.

Once upon a time, God was a safe pasture. Then God became the gate to the wilderness and the wilderness itself as well.

Once upon a time, God was my father. Then also my mother, then my brother, then my gate, then my water, then my bread, then my truth, then my way, then my life.

Once upon a time, I loved to worship in large, crowded rooms with loud music. Then I began to hear God more clearly in the wilderness.

Once upon a time, I was suspicious of authority and establishment. Then I went to the heart of the establishment and found the undomesticated perfume of the Spirit there too.

Once upon a time, God was orderly and neat and black-and-white and logical. Then God became a gorgeous rainbow of color and surprise.

Once upon a time, I thought Jesus liked the productive ones the best. But then I learned how incredibly precious it is to walk with Jesus in the shadows and the grief and the pain and the loss, to learn the comfort of the Man of Sorrows, the mending of God in the midst of our brokenness, and what it really means to be caught up in power, power, wonder-working power.

Once upon a time, I thought Communion was a ritual. Then I encountered the Eucharist as thin place to meet with God over and over again.

Once upon a time, I thought my path was stretching out ahead of me, straight and clear and flat. Then I turned an unexpected corner to find improvisations of faith and the power of the Holy Spirit as one part charistamtic, one part Catholic, soaked in doubt and reconciliation and redemption.

Once upon a time, I thought a life of faith was a life of steady foundations and stable shores. Then I heard the unmistakable loon calling me out into the waters at night.

Once upon a time, I thought I would soar on wings like eagles. Then I got down in the mud with a patient heron and decided I could abide in all three spaces, the dirt and the water and the air, always near the Source.

Once upon a time, I thought we charasmatics had the monopoly on the Spirit’s movement and language. Then I was prophesied over and healed through Catholics and Anglicans and Episcopalians, priests and bishops.

Once upon a time, I thought liturgy was dry and routine and empty of meaning. Then I felt more alive in the ancient prayers of the Book of Common Prayer than I had in any spontaneous prayer.

Once upon a time, I thought I would laugh every time I gave birth. Then I didn’t.

Once upon a time, I thought that my father would live forever. Then I sat beside him in a hospital room while machines breathed for him and I practiced saying goodbye. I thought he would always have the answers, but then we began to learn together.

Once upon a time, I believed I could bargain with God for what I wanted in my life. Then I learned to sit with Jesus.

Once upon a time, I thought God wanted to use me. Then I learned God was already with me.

Once upon a time, I thought God preferred the holiest, the wisest, the saintliest, the most powerful, the most beautiful, the strongest. Then I learned Jesus doesn’t only hang out with the winners.

Once upon a time, God was a Bible as textbook. Then God became a Person and the Story.

Once upon a time, God was white and middle-class and powerful. Then God became black, became brown, became Easter, became poor, became a refugee, became the oppressed, became the ones left outside the door.

Once upon a time, I argued and debated and fought for the truth. Then I began to live within the truth.

Once upon a time, I held on tight. Then God opened my hands.

Once upon a time, God smelled like the mountains and a glacier-fed lake. Then God began to also smell like the city and like birth and like unwashed bodies in tent cities.

Once upon a time, God tasted like strawberries from the garden and fresh-baked bread. Then God also began to taste like tikka masala and pakora, like beans and rice, like Kraft dinner and frozen pizza.

Once upon a time, God sounded like a keyboard and a tambourine. Then God sounded like the drum, like the storm, like women’s voices raised in song, like a chant, like a cry, like a laugh, like thunder, like silence.

Once upon a time, I knew who I was. Then I learned who I was not.

Once upon a time, God was certainty and right answers. The God became the questions.

Once upon a time, I believed God would heal me. Then God did.

Once upon a time, I believed God would heal me. Then God didn’t.

Once upon a time, God. And then God.

Just Below the Surface

… an invitation to slow down, look more deeply, listen more carefully, and just have eyes to see.

Melody Harrell

Written by

I am a lover of beauty, who wants to move through this earth, awake.

Just Below the Surface

… an invitation to slow down, look more deeply, listen more carefully, and just have eyes to see.

Welcome to a place where words matter. On Medium, smart voices and original ideas take center stage - with no ads in sight. Watch
Follow all the topics you care about, and we’ll deliver the best stories for you to your homepage and inbox. Explore
Get unlimited access to the best stories on Medium — and support writers while you’re at it. Just $5/month. Upgrade