A word about meaning.

I recently had a conversation with a dear friend who described an experience she had with her son. Her son had invited her to go to a concert of a Christian group she was not acquainted with. She said the music was all God focused, and she guessed that probably half the audience may not have been God-seeking people. They were there to listen to the music. The conclusion of the concert, a gospel message and testimony were given by a young member of the group who shared how God had met her when she was in a terribly dark and emotional state, suicidal and without hope, and in desperation she told everyone there how she invited Jesus into her life. And everything changed. In the book of Daniel in the Bible, chapter 2, King Nebuchadnezzar had a dream. But the dream did not come with an explanation. The king called all of his wise men who served him with a demand. He demanded, Tell me what I dreamed, and then tell me what that dream means. That’s not unlike saying, Tell me what I saw, and then tell me what that means. No one on earth can tell the king his dreams, they said, and no king, however great and powerful, has ever asked such a thing of any magician, enchanter, astrologer. The king’s demand is impossible. No one except the gods can tell you your dream, and they do not live here among people. The king’s answer was furious, and you can read that story for yourself in Daniel chapter 2. But the essence of the story is that a young man named Daniel stepped forward and he knew exactly what to do. He didn’t guess. He asked God to reveal the mystery, and God gave him both the dream and its interpretation. That picture has always impressed me about Daniel. I often think of that poignant story when people ask me those what does this mean sorts of questions about what’s going on in their lives. My friend said when she was telling her story that she wondered how many people at that concert may have been turned off by what the young woman had said. How many might be angry with God because they had family or friends who had reached out to God and he hadn’t performed any kind of miracle or transformation for them? She said, I’ve been thinking about that concert ever since. I’ve been thinking about the young people who were there too, and wondering, what did I really see when I was at that concert? Who did I really see? And what did what I saw really mean in my own life? She said, when I think of those people, I’m troubled. I encouraged her to write out her experience, write out what she saw, write out what she wondered about, and then take some time to ask God about the meaning of what all of that looked like. Meaning doesn’t always mean explanation. Sometimes meaning is simply discovering how God wants me to respond to something. Perhaps I need to listen more carefully, or perhaps speak with more humility. Or maybe I need to carry hope to someone else without making promises that God has not made. I’ve had many experiences where God does not hand me an answer, but instead asks me a question he refuses to let me forget. Why am I thinking about those young people, I wonder? Or why did I feel hope and discomfort at the same time? Experiences that linger may be invitations. God may not be asking me to explain what happened to everybody else. He may be asking me to pay attention to me.