Are You Following a Boring God?

In his acclaimed Walden, Henry David Thoreau writes, “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation.”

Quiet desperation. I’ve certainly had my moments of it, mostly when the trajectory of my life seemed to be–well, a non-trajectory.

But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about God in forty years, it’s that he’s a God of adventure. He wants us to be anything but quietly desperate.

You might be thinking, Sure. Maybe for you. Here I am, surrounded by teething toddlers and diaper-clad infants. My daily routine is about as far from adventure as it gets. Or, Do you see me in my cubicle day after day, working away at my boring corporate job? You think this is an adventurous life?

You might have grown up spending Sundays with your butt in a church pew, scolded away from any sort of “fun.” In your paradigm, anything church- or God-related has to do with following a set of rules designed to keep us insulated (or isolated) in a subculture of safety. You might be thinking, God? Adventure? Those things go together? Not in my world.

But adventure doesn’t have to look like mountain climbing or swimming with sharks or international travel–although it certainly can mean those things. Adventure is simply a matter of asking God, What do you want for my life? And then listening for the answer.

If you need proof of this, all you have to do is read the Bible. God is into shaking things up, into calling his people to move. He parts oceans, rains down fire from heaven, leads people out of slavery, brings down the walls of cities. For that matter, he created the world, didn’t he? He created us. What could be more adventurous than that?

God is anything but safe or boring.

If you’re having trouble believing me, let me quietly ask: Is it possible that you just haven’t heard God calling you to join the adventure?

It may seem easy for me to say this. I’ve changed careers, moved cities and states, traveled solo, and taken all kinds of other chances (I even tried online dating, had a host of terrible experiences, gave up, then tried again–and met my husband). But I wouldn’t have done any of that if I hadn’t felt God nudging me, if I hadn’t been listening for his voice. If we’re willing to tune in, and then to leave our nets and follow him like the first disciples (see Matthew 4:18-22), he’ll give us the courage to do more than live the status quo. He doesn’t want us to settle for quiet desperation.

God wants to do amazing things with and through us. In John 14:12, as Jesus is telling his disciples that he is about to die, he says this: “Very truly I tell you, whoever believes in me will do the works I have been doing, and they will do even greater things than these, because I am going to the Father.”

We will do greater things than Jesus? Really? Jesus healed the sick, made the blind see, made the lame walk, hung out with the edgy and controversial people rather than the socially acceptable folks, and challenged the religious leadership. Shoot, Jesus rose from the dead. It’s hard to believe we could top any of that. But Jesus said that with the power of the Holy Spirit, we can.

[Tweet “The key to living a life of adventure is being open to it.”] You have to get up in the morning asking what the day holds. You have to be willing to see your immediate world through a lens of possibility. You have to be open to opportunity.

What might adventure look like for you today? Making friends with the person who just moved in down the street? Starting a conversation with the barista at Starbucks? Reading a book that challenges you to think outside your spiritual box? Trying a new hobby? Hosting a dinner party and inviting someone who doesn’t know Jesus? Planning a trip somewhere you’ve never been? Reconnecting with an old friend? Serving at a local homeless shelter?

If you’re feeling some–or a lot–of the quiet desperation Thoreau wrote about, maybe it’s time to ask God to show you the adventure you were meant to be living.

I’m so glad I know our adventurous God. Don’t you want to know him, too?