Have You Ever Been Chased By God?

I DO NOT KNOW WHY Jesus was so willing to get my bus out of the ditch for eighteen years and then let it sit there as if it was ready for the junkyard. 

Sure, it was getting old, but the engine and tires were still good, and with a paint job and maybe a little bodywork, it would look brand new after the economic downturn in 2008.  

He promised a long time ago to never let me out of his grip, but for the first time in my journey with him, I felt the squeeze.

When I saw that Jesus wanted to take me somewhere, but not on my bus, I squirmed, squealed, cried, and begged, but to no avail. 

He wanted me to get on his bus. 

I didn’t realize my theology was wrong when I agreed to give him my life. I was supposed to willingly get off my bus and onto his bus, never again to be the driver.

What he did not tell me was to quit my life, as I knew it, and join Mother Teresa in Calcutta. That I would have understood. 

So picture a girl stomping around, refusing to get on the bus with the destination sign UNKNOWN. Because she is afraid.

She’s running as fast as she can toward the highway, hoping someone safe and sane would show up to give her a ride to her bus.

Then Jesus comes along driving his bus with the door wide open and a smile on his face, as if to say, Didn’t you say you trusted me?   

The previous year I received numerous calls from clients asking me to write books since they weren’t interested in paying my high consulting fees. That wasn’t new.

I was asked more than a decade earlier by the publisher of a national business association to write books. 

Certainly, I was flattered to hear the world needed my message, but I was also a single mom with plenty of work in my region.

Why would I want to go on the speaker’s circuit, live in hotels, and peddle books from the trunk of my car? “Thank you for asking,” I said after researching the notion. “I’m too busy now, but maybe when I’m fifty I’ll write books.” 

The recession was now more than a year-long and promising to get worse. Like everyone else in my Sunday school class, I was praising Jesus and trying to look positive about my future.

The teacher, who did not know my circumstances or me well, looked into my eyes and pointed his finger at me and said, “If the small voice of the Lord wants you to write books, write books.” 

The guy sitting next to me, who knew my situation, whispered in my ear. “How many ways do you need to hear that you are supposed to write?”

The message continued to chase me.

I had dinner with my personal coach and did not mention how the universe was closing in on me, when out of the blue he said, “Have you considered leaving a legacy behind after you’re dead and gone? Your work is good, and I think you should write books.”

The following night, while catching up with two girlfriends, I complained that it seemed like Jesus wanted me to write books. “I’ve been telling you that for years,” said one. The other said, “You’re a good storyteller and I’d read your books.” 

Have you ever been chased by God? 

I tried to explain to the Lord that I’d never sell enough books to pay my bills, and my career was more promising. If he would just open the doors to my bus.

Only later would I realize he knew something about writing books, having written the Bible, the best seller of all time. 

Writing made no sense to me, and quite frankly, I still ask the Lord “Why?” On the night I finally surrendered, the words I spoke to the publisher in Washington D.C. flooded my thoughts. “Maybe I’ll write books when I’m fifty.” 

It was the night of my fifty-first birthday. 

The reluctant writer got on Jesus’ bus. Over the following two years, we made a few stops, and I was beginning to see why his bus doesn’t announce the destination.

The first stop was a horrible place, Humiliation, and the second was Shame.

We visited both places more than once. 

We visited Pride several times and by the time we got to Self, six years after this journey began, I began to see what was happening. 

We were dropping off bags.

All those stinking, rotting bags I had been carrying for years on my bus.

The trip had nothing to do with writing.

It had to do with trust.

The real destination was freedom. 

Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”—Jesus

As always, it is my intent and hope that my words may encourage you wherever you are in your journey.

If anyone has ears to hear, let him hear.–Jesus (Mark 4:23)

Please share your thoughts in the comments below or go to the group tab above to share your own experience. It only takes a minute of your time to register (and you can be anonymous), and your words may help others.