Meeting the Untamed God

“Aslan is a lion—the Lion, the great Lion.”

“Ooh!” said Susan, “I’d thought he was a man. Is he—quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion.”

“Safe?” said Mr. Beaver. “Who said anything about safe? Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good.”

The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe   by C. S. Lewis

The truth of Lewis’ words became reality to me one summer afternoon in my late twenties. That morning I had been teaching English at a local high school, a career that I loved and had dreamed about since my childhood. When I arrived home around noon, I intended to go straight to the kitchen to prepare my lunch, but as I was entering the house, I felt a gentle yet unmistakable tug in my spirit. A very clear thought came to my mind—skip lunch and pray. 

I was perplexed. It certainly was not a thought that would have originated with me, but it was distinct enough that I could not ignore it. I moved to the living room, knelt beside a loveseat, and began to pray, "Dear Heavenly Father." I got no further. Again, the inward prompting came: "You don't need to talk. Just listen, I have something to say to you."

What happened next became one of the most profound experiences of my life, yet there were no flashing lights, no open visions, no trances, nothing of any spectacular nature that occurred. There was just silence, but in that silence what I can only describe as “a still small voice" impressed words on my heart, “I want you to quit your job and work full-time for me.”  

I was stunned. Strength drained from my body. I moved to the sofa and lay there, trying to process what had just occurred. I cannot explain what happened in that moment. I only know that I recognized the voice, even though I had never heard it that distinctly before. This was not my imagination. My difficulty was not confusion; it was the cost.

I had met the Lord in a personal way during my first year of college. In my mind, He was always "safe," a Savior who forgave my sins and walked beside me. I had grown up in a pastor's home and had seen others receive "calls" to ministry, usually in their late teens. I was twenty-seven, married, and firmly established in a profession that I loved. My life was settled and predictable. Now suddenly the Lord had stepped outside the boundaries I had set for Him. For the first time, I saw Him not merely as Savior, but as Lord. He had His own plans, and He spoke as One accustomed to obedience.

An intense struggle began within me. Not knowing how to handle it, I chose avoidance. If I behaved as though nothing had happened, perhaps it would fade away. I enrolled in a Master's program to strengthen the very career I had been asked to leave. Although I maintained my devotional life, I did so cautiously. I kept the Lord near enough to avoid guilt, but distant enough to avoid surrender. For three months, my plan appeared to be working.

Then one evening, as my husband and I prayed before bed, that same inward conviction returned. "Can you give up these bricks?" I glanced at the bedroom window. Our home was made of brick. I understood immediately. This was not just about giving up a job; it was about leaving my home as well.

My husband, unaware of my internal battle, paused mid-prayer and asked gently, "Have you given God everything?" Tears came before my words, "No," I admitted. "Then, give Him everything," he said, and began praying for my surrender. The Lord had not withdrawn the call. His silence had not been retreat but patience. He was giving me time to process and wrestle. 

Again, three months later, during the Christmas season, the call returned. My husband's grandmother was visiting. One night she wandered into the dark hallway, disoriented and searching for the bathroom. I was awakened by the sound of her opening and shutting doors in her confusion. As I lay in bed, I sensed the voice that was becoming more familiar to me: "Will you leave your comfortable bed and help her?" I hesitated briefly before getting up to guide her to the bathroom. On my way back down the hallway, I heard, "People all over the world are searching in the darkness looking for the light. Will you leave your comfortable surroundings and help them?"

The progression was unmistakeable. First, my career. Then, my home. Now, my comfort—and even my country. It all meant one thing: giving up security, stability, and roots. I was not adventurous by nature; I could easily have lived my entire life in one place. The thought of international ministry was far beyond the future I had envisioned. Yet the Lord was making His will known step by step.

The struggle that followed was fierce and prolonged. I discovered that my will was far stronger than I had realized. Many times I wrestled in prayer, asking God to bend my heart toward obedience. In my small way, it was a Gethsemane—a surrender of my desire to His Will. 

And then came the turning point. It was not fear that moved me. It was not obligation. It was love. One day, in the middle of the internal debate, the truth burst from me: "But I love Him!" I shouted aloud with passion, although there was no one in the room to hear it. The storm began to subside.

Love did what nothing else could do. It caused me to lay my career, my bricks, and my carefully arranged future at His feet. Jesus' words came alive in a way they never had before: "If you love Me, you will do what I have said...." (John 14:21 CEV) 

In the months that followed, the first steps of obedience began to unfold. Those steps would indeed take me to another country where I would minister to those who, like my husband's grandmother, were "searching in the darkness looking for the light." They were not easy steps, but there was a peace I had not known while I was resisting. 

The God I had once tried to domesticate turned out to be neither predictable nor safe, but He was good. And in surrendering to His Lordship, I discovered something I had not anticipated: the untamed God had become my safe place.