Walking With Christ

Genesis 3:9  But the Lord God called to the man and said to him, “Where are you?”(ESV)

God’s first question to Adam after the fall wasn’t a request for geographical information.  God knew exactly where Adam was hiding.

Adam also knew where he was physically.  He was among the trees, attempting to conceal himself.  Yet his physical location was only one small part of his actual position.

He was afraid.  He was ashamed.  He was separated from the openness he’d previously shared with God.  He’d disobeyed, and he was already trying to explain his condition without fully admitting how he had arrived there.

That’s the difficulty hidden inside the question, “Where are you?”

We usually know at least part of the answer.  We know what happened yesterday.  We know which relationships are strained.  We know which responsibilities are waiting.  We know what hurts, what failed, or what suddenly changed.

But knowing the visible facts doesn’t mean we fully understand our position.

We may accurately recognize that we’re exhausted while failing to recognize that we’re also bitter.  We may know that we feel trapped while overlooking the choices that continue to hold us there.  We may recognize the damage someone else caused while remaining unaware of how that damage has begun shaping our own behavior.

Our understanding of “here” can be beautifully accurate in one direction and dangerously incomplete in another.

God’s question invites more than a location report.  It calls us to step out from behind whatever we’re using as cover and honestly examine where we stand before Him.

This doesn’t require us to understand everything at once.  Adam didn’t suddenly comprehend every consequence of the fall.  He only needed to stop hiding long enough to answer.

Before we ask where we should go next, we must begin with what’s already visible.

Where are we physically?
Where are we emotionally?
Where are we relationally?
Where are we spiritually?
What do we know, and what have we only assumed?

The first step forward is often not movement at all.

It’s telling the truth about where we are.