The following is from a new friend to Elisha’s Riddle – C. David Baker.

He has written a number of amazing books and shared with us the following piece from an unfinished manuscript:

The Walking Stick Journal:

Stepping Stones of Transformation

Friday, April, 3, 2020. 

I awaken, weary from two years of engaging fear. I reluctantly roll my feet to the floor. I can feel my anxiety already triggering the never-ending cascade of dark thoughts poised to strike. Braced for another day of who-knows-what, I take a breath. No way out of this s–t.

But on this morning I sense a tender voice suddenly coming from beyond myself. Or maybe it’s coming from a place deeper than that nagging false self that seems to hold my mind captive.  

This inner/beyond voice simply says, “Try me.” What does that mean? Somehow, the unexpected invitation brings an unfamiliar feeling of relief, like maybe there’s hope after all? I’m not quite sure what to do.

I move downstairs toward the kitchen. “Um, okay,” I finally answer. “Go ahead. I guess. I’ll try you? But I’m not sure what you mean…” I pause, waiting.

Silence.

Of course. I make my morning coffee and throw myself at the table in front of another theology book.

*

A generous creek borders my small Pennsylvania farm. She’s moody, to be sure, but somehow she’s a reassuring constant that I’ve needed over the years. I’ll have to reflect on that someday. 

Today is pleasantly warm with a little chill that keeps me alert. The trees are winter-bare but ready for the season’s turn. My well-worn path meanders ahead, mud-brown between the fresh green now covering the woodland floor. I grip my faithful walking stick and think about this morning’s, “Try me.” A terrible dread abruptly surges. Assuming this is God nudging me again, this could be really painful; really bad. 

Trusting God is not natural for me; seems like every time He/She and I cross paths it hurts. I can’t escape visions of that angry face far above.

The ‘try me’ comes again. I summon courage and take a few long strides with deep breaths. “Okay, you want me to try you… ” My hand tightens on the stick. “Um, still not sure what you want.”

A notion ‘hits’ me from that somewhere place. The thought filling me feels out of place. My mind is now telling me that the key to my struggles may be about how God sees me and not the other way around. 

I keep walking, mulling. Then I stop. Wait, is this about how He wants me to ‘try’ Him?  I take a few more steps, thinking, and then suck in a nervous breath before blurting, “Okay, Lord. Here goes: Who do you say that I am?” 

I’m a little jumpy about asking this. I’m well-aware that the question probably should be asked the other way around but I have a sudden sense that the Spirit doesn’t care about proper theology as much as I do. On the other hand, I’m guessing She’s about to answer with a litany of my failures… 

Braced, I walk about fifty more yards in silence under the tall skeletons of leafless trees. The creek is full and rolling to my right. I know an answer is coming. I can feel it. I swallow.

And then it did.

I emerge in a clearing and stop, stunned. Sprawled before me is a carpet of yellow buttercups boasting their fresh blooms. I am drawn to one little fellow sprouting at the edge of this sunlit patch. My inner eye opens. I’m suddenly able to see, differently.

I smile. “A buttercup? That’s who you say that I am?” I look at my new little friend. Fragile yet purposed, blessed with a dignified beauty, cared for and graced; a gift to the woodland. A gift to me. Could this be true? Is this how God sees me? 

I am a little disoriented, even stunned. I can feel divine presence in the moment. The power of encounter covers me and yet its fullest meaning seems just beyond my grasp. Doesn’t matter. My eyes fill. I fall to my knees and look carefully at the little wildflower. A buttercup? 

“Yes,” comes the answer. 

I well up. It feels wonderful.

*

As per usual, the next morning my ego-self begins to doubt the whole experience.  That relentless voice in my head wants to control everything because it is terrified of the More. 

Grumbling at myself, I fill my coffee cup and open a book by George MacDonald. I take a sip and settle into my chair, sighing. The first words my eyes fall upon are, “God sees each of us as a beautiful flower in his garden.” 

I laugh out loud, put down my coffee and close my eyes. Remembering the buttercups, I realize that not only did God care enough to invite me to “try” Him, but when I did, He showed up gently and with a beautiful grace that I did not expect. If this is the kind of God He is, maybe I can trust Him after all; maybe I could follow Him anywhere? 

I sigh and take a sip of coffee, suddenly wondering why the answer couldn’t have been an eagle instead of a buttercup! I shake my head, laughing at myself, and then wonder where all of this is going.

It seems to me that I should encourage others to ask the same question: “Lord, who do you say that I am?”