There's a little bit of Frank Sinatra in each of us. We all want to be independent and do it our way.
I've never met anyone who, when pressed, will not admit there is a God. It's pretty obvious when we look into our baby's eyes, smell a rose or think about the wonders of DNA.
Susan and I went to see the "Body World" exhibit a few weeks ago - I can't imagine any person coming out of that display as an atheist.
No, the problem is not believing that there is a God; the difficulty is in submitting our lives to someone greater than ourselves.
Wise King Solomon wrote: Trust God from the bottom of your heart; don't try to figure out everything on your own. Listen for God's voice in everything you do, everywhere you go; he's the one who will keep you on track. Don't assume that you know it all. Run to God! Run from evil! Your body will glow with health, your very bones will vibrate with life! Honour God with everything you own; give him the first and the best. Your barns will burst, your wine vats will brim over. But don't, dear friend, resent God's discipline; don't sulk under his loving correction. It's the child he loves that God corrects; a father's delight is behind all this.
At the end of the day, there's just no where else to go but to God. A story from my childhood illustrates my point:
I remember well a time when I was six years old and was staying with my uncle and auntie for a week while mom and dad were on vacation. My five-year-old sister, Heather, was with me.
Auntie Phyllis was a sweetheart and Uncle Gordie was a lot of fun too - when he was sober. One evening, a couple of days after we arrived, Heather and I were very frightened by what we heard outside our bedroom. Uncle Gordie had come home drunk and was aggressively yelling at his dear wife.
We'd never heard, before that dark evening, foul language and abusive tones like he was using. We'd never been exposed to marital conflict in our family home.
So being the big brother, I felt we really only had one option - to run away. I promised Heather I would protect her and from then until I fell asleep, I plotted our escape for the next day.
In the morning, after breakfast, we each put some necessary clothes in a bag; I then secretively packed some bread and an apple for each of us, and then told Auntie Phyllis that we were going out to play.
That was when we made our run through their back gate. Our little hearts beat fast as we darted down the road past several farms. I remember sitting on a curb to rest, now on the main street, outside of a car dealership.
Heather looked at me with her big, brown, trusting eyes and questioned, "What do we do now Barry? Where can we go?"
Trying to show as much machismo as possible, I responded, "Don't worry, we'll think of something."
In truth, there was nowhere to go. We were many miles away from our own home and of course there was no turning back to our aunt and uncle's house. We were two lost and lonely sheep. I'd thought that freedom meant doing our own thing but had never planned through the consequences of such a ludicrous decision to be independent of care.
As I think back now, I can only imagine the fear that we'd inflicted upon our loving Auntie Phyllis. Thankfully, she found us, sitting and crying together (only a couple of blocks away) within about an hour of our big escape.
It's in our times of weakness that we finally come to admit, "I think it's time to go home and submit to someone bigger than I am."
Barry Buzza (http://barrybuzza.blogspot.com) is senior pastor at Northside church.
