On Approaching God

Last week I took care of a friend’s flowers while she was out of town. She has a fairly large yard, so this wasn’t a simply “go water that one potted plant I have next to my front door” kind of a job. But it was refreshing to spend time alone, and her gardens encourage quiet, meditative conversation with God. She has two fishponds with koi in them (the medium to large “goldfish” that live in outdoor ornamental ponds). I observed these fish last week, and they challenged the way that I approach God.

The fish in the lower pond like to stay near the bottom or on the edges. When they see me coming to feed them, they cower away, as if they’re afraid of me. When I toss the food in, they still cower. It’s as if they think I’m trying to lure them in to catch or hurt them. They cautiously come to the surface to snatch some food, then whip themselves away and to the bottom of the pond. They suffer from sever distrust, even though my hand is one of blessing, not curses.

The fish in the upper pond are much different. As soon as they see or hear me, they all crowd up to the surface, stick their heads out of the water, and open their mouths. They are almost frantic in their hunger and eagerness to receive what I have to give. When I toss the food in, it’s almost as if they wrestle each other to see who can get the first mouthful. They are so excited to eat that sometimes they’ll mouth a lily pad, mistaking it for a very large bit of food. Once they’ve eaten, they happily swim around, obviously content with their full bellies.

Which fishpond do I live in? How do I approach God? Do I come to Him cowering, suspicious of everything He does, expecting hard things and painful circumstances, inwardly suffering from distrust? Or do I get so excited to see Him that I stick my head out of my comfort zone, open my mouth wide, and expect His food to be good food?

I desire to be an upper pond fish.