Do You Hide from the Lord?

When your child is playing in the other room, and you suddenly realize you haven’t heard him or her for a few minutes, you undoubtedly make one assumption: something is wrong.

Whenever this happened, and I called to our oldest daughter, “Becca, what are you doing?” she would always reply, “I’m being very carefully!”

Grammar notwithstanding, we knew not to assume her statement was true.

Our middle child was more direct. When we asked her the same question, she inevitably responded, “Don’t come in here!”

We got in there.

When controllers lose contact with an airplane, they take extraordinary measures to make sure the plane is safe and moving toward its destination. They know that if the plane goes silent, something bad might be happening.

Silence from kids and airplanes means something has gone wrong—or will soon.

God understands. In the Garden of Eden, he called to his children as well, and they refused to answer. Eventually, they did reply. First, however, they hid. Silence. Silence from the first kids meant something terrible had happened.

“When the cool evening breezes were blowing, the man and his wife heard the Lord God walking about in the garden. So they hid from the Lord God among the trees. Then the Lord God called to the man, ‘Where are you?’ He replied, ‘I heard you walking in the garden, so I hid. I was afraid because I was naked.’” (Genesis 3:8-10 NLT)

God’s first question is rife with pain—for both the questioner and the questioned.

Where are you?

God knows the answer to his question. He made the trees the couple hides among. He knows every leaf and twig. He sees the trail of broken branches and dreams as they have run away. It’s like our kids playing hide-and-seek behind a flagpole and believing we don’t see where they are.

He knows where they are. So there has to be another reason he asks.

My children, where are you?

The answer from God’s children was not good—it was the equivalent of “Don’t come in here.” “We’re hiding.” “We’re afraid.”

Fear has never entered the first children’s perfect world. They don’t comprehend this first taste of something “not right.” They have never been afraid of their father. The one who created their perfect relationship now appears changed, terrifying. But they know who has really changed.

They run for cover, trying to hide from the sudden vulnerability, trying to shake the shame that stalks them no matter how far they run. Leaves are a terrible cover, really, but desperate people do strange things.

Do you have naked dreams? Most people do. You’re in a crowd of people, and suddenly, you don’t have any clothes on. Dream you feels humiliated and horrified. Dream you wants nothing but to run away, but you never can in dreams. I think Adam and Eve must have felt a humiliation like this.

Don’t we know how they felt? Where do you run to for cover, hoping to be hidden? What do you do to try to remove shame, praying it will finally wash clean?

Sometimes we use our bank accounts as hiding places, believing their false promise of security. Maybe a relationship will erase the shame by giving us a place to belong, even if it’s an unwise relationship. A new job promises to fix everything wrong with the old one. A political party promises to make our country the way we’ve always thought it should be.

Adam and Eve are not the only ones who know how to hide out in the woods, their badly-thrown-together costumes masking their terror at the future.

This first question is one that, not surprisingly, God continues to ask every human being. He’s never stopped asking it. Where are you? Why are you hiding from me? How deep in the woods will you go before you realize I always know? That I will always follow you until you turn around?

Because we’re ashamed of being broken, messed-up humans, we don’t often answer his question. We let it go to voicemail, so-to-speak. We tell God, “I’m being very careful.” Or, “Don’t come in here.”

We can only offer two answers when God calls to us with this question. “I’m hiding,” or “I’m right here.” If it’s not the latter, it’s the former. We can’t be in between. If we want healing, wholeness, purpose, relationships, we need to stop hiding, step into light, and say, “Here I am. This is where I’ve been. With you is where I want to be.”

The light isn’t as terrifying as we imagine. After all, it was there, in the beginning, spinning us into being.

The Word gave life to everything that was created,

and his life brought light to everyone.

The light shines in the darkness,

and the darkness can never extinguish it. (John 1:5 NLT)

Where am I? I’m right here, Lord. I’m stepping into the light you created and in which you created me. Help me to shed my silly costumes and come out. I’m right here, waiting for orders. Right here, wanting to know you. Right here, completely, resolutely, incorrigibly sold on your goodness.

Jill Richardson is a writer, speaker, pastor, mom of three, and author of five books. She likes to travel, grow flowers, read Tolkien, and research her next project. She believes in Jesus, grace, restoration, kindness, justice, and dark chocolate. Her passion is partnering with the next generation of faith. Jill blogs at jillmrichardson.com.

Photograph © Maia Habegger, used with permission