Back in 2010, for my grandfather’s 84th birthday, we decided to gift him a hot air balloon ride. It was something he’d always wanted to do, and well, turning 84 seemed like a good occasion to finally do it. My mom and I decided we would tag along and I was so excited.

Now, this was not a situation where we made some trek to Arizona or some other beautiful landscape for a hot air balloon festival or something fancy like that. No, we went right down the road and bought tickets with a local tourism company in Orlando, FL. Easy enough.

We signed up for a sunrise ride, so, if I remember correctly, we had to meet our guides in the lobby of a Hampton Inn near the theme parks at around 5:00am. By the time we made it to the field where they were getting the balloon ride ready, it was just before the crack of dawn.

I’ll never forget how foggy the field was as we drove up. It was thick, hazy, and a bit disorienting, making it difficult to see pretty much anything. As we stood there in the middle of the fog, the crew lit the balloons and the fog began to subtly glow, barely illuminating the basket we would soon be asked to get into. Once we were all securely tucked inside said basket, they turned up the flame, and we slowly began to rise.

For what felt like awhile, we seemed to just be floating in a cloud. But as we continued to rise higher, the fog slowly began to dissipate. Finally, it broke altogether, the dawning sun greeted us, and even in the-middle-of-nowhere, Central Florida, it took our breath away. 

I was reminded of this experience this past weekend. I made a quick trip to Orlando and left before daybreak. I had my coffee in the cupholder, a great audiobook playing, and I was looking forward to watching the sunrise as I drove. However, unfortunately, the road was incredibly foggy. It reminded me of that field and it felt like I was driving through a never-ending cloud. I couldn’t see clearly. The only things keeping me on track were the few meters of white lines on the road and the occasional taillights of the car ahead of me leading the way. 

I kept thinking that the fog would let up sooner rather than later, waiting for that beautiful sunrise to appear and melt it all away. But the majority of my trip was foggy, even after the sun rose and the morning grew subtly lighter. I was tense and it was not fun. All I could think about was how great it would be if my car were that hot air balloon, transporting me above the fog and the murky path below, allowing me to see the sunrise and where I was going. That didn’t happen, obviously. I just had to keep driving, making my way through.

I don’t know if it’s just me, but I’ve been feeling a bit foggy lately. I think it’s safe to say we’ve all been in a sort of collective fog, especially the past couple of years. There seems to be more confusion rather than clarity, more questions rather than answers, more tension rather than peace. We long to make sense of it all, to see the whole path, the whole picture, but it seems we’re only given a few meters of white lines to guide us through. We long for some sort of formula that will take us above and out of the fog, providing an explanation or at least a bit of understanding. But instead, we just keep making our way through. 

Ours is a culture that loves happily-ever-afters, neatly tied bows, clear direction, and definitive explanations. We like our mysteries solved, our problems fixed, and our questions answered. Or at least, that’s what we strive for. In my experience though, life tends to be filled with more questions than answers. And I’m learning and beginning to believe that’s okay.

Really, I’m learning to lean into the questions rather than try to force the answers. Because maybe the questions actually help us cultivate faithfulness. As I recently heard author and pastor, J.R. Briggs share, “The leaders of the future will know how to ask the right questions, not have the right answers. The kind of life we live depends upon the kinds of questions we ask.”

There’s a familiar story in the book of Genesis that feels appropriate in the middle of the fog. It’s the story of Jacob wrestling with God. In The Message version of Genesis 32:22-28, we read:

22-23 But during the night he got up and took his two wives, his two maidservants, and his eleven children and crossed the ford of the Jabbok. He got them safely across the brook along with all his possessions.

24-25 But Jacob stayed behind by himself, and a man wrestled with him until daybreak. When the man saw that he couldn’t get the best of Jacob as they wrestled, he deliberately threw Jacob’s hip out of joint.

26 The man said, “Let me go; it’s daybreak.”

Jacob said, “I’m not letting you go ’til you bless me.”

27 The man said, “What’s your name?”

He answered, “Jacob.”

28 The man said, “But no longer. Your name is no longer Jacob. From now on it’s Israel (God-Wrestler); you’ve wrestled with God and you’ve come through.”

Now, I’ll be honest, this passage actually brings up a whole host of questions for me. Questions I’m not going to attempt to answer right now, though they are worth asking! Instead, one thing I love about this passage is God’s willingness and even encouragement to wrestle. In fact, God renames Jacob, and his new name, Israel, literally means, to wrestle with God. Israel became the people of God, a people who would continue to wrestle and come through. It was part of their identity, their namesake. And even as children of God today, we are invited to do the same. 

It can be easy to assume that being faithful means simply accepting, complying, or being easy-going. But what if God wants us to be curious? What if God wants us to interact and engage and explore? What if God prefers a dialogue over a monologue?

I think God can handle our “whys,” our “hows,” our “whens,” our “wheres,” our “whos,” our “what-ifs,” and our “how-longs.” And maybe those questions and frustrations actually help to foster a deeper, meaningful relationship with God. A relationship built, not on certainty, but on trust. As Gerald May writes in his book, The Dark Night of the Soul, when we choose to wrestle,

“…we are freed from having to figure things out, and we find delight in knowing that we do not know.” 

I have to believe that as we experience and lean into our own internal wrestling, uncertainty or fogginess, God is right there with us. Not always with answers or clarity or with an offer to fast forward us through it or bring us out of it. But as a companion, a guide, and a comforting presence for the journey, however long it might take.  

The promise is this: As we wonder and wrestle, God is with us. As we navigate the fogginess and uncertainty of life, God is with us. As we are reminded in 1 Corinthians 13:12, again from The Message:

“We don’t yet see things clearly. We’re squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won’t be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright! We’ll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us…”

So today, if you’re in the middle of the fog, remember, it’s okay to lean into your questions. As you do, you just might find that you’re leaning on God. May we learn to welcome our curiosity, our frustration, and our wonder, trusting that God is right there with us as we’re wrestling through it all.