Category Archives: Uncategorized

Living Loved

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I have the Hawk Nelson song, “Live Like You’re Loved” stuck in my head this morning, so I’m asking God: what does it look like to “live like you’re loved”?

It is deeply settling to know I am loved. It voids all the questions of whether I’m doing enough and whether I have value. It means knowing that Someone’s thoughts and affections are always with me.

When you know you’re loved, you live generously, because you know you will never run out of the one thing that’s most important. There is no scarcity; you don’t have to hold on so tightly.

Knowing I am loved means I can stop measuring and judging everything in my life.

If I look at Jesus, living loved means irritating people with grace and generosity and abundance. And it means being able to go ahead with what seems like an impossible sacrifice.

It means strength that is not my own, and life that is so bursting full that death on this earth is only a temporary setback.

Photo by Gustavo Fring from Pexels

Love Is Fragile

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Do you know that love is fragile? You probably do. I’m a bit slow when it comes to love. When I got married I thought love was synonymous with commitment (thank you conservative Christianity). Sometime in the first year it became very clear to me that there was more to marriage than staying together – i.e. not getting divorced (just like there is more to healthy pre-marriage physical boundaries than a penis not going in a vagina – who knew!). Ok, so maybe I feel a little bit lied to. Maybe it seemed simple, and I’m annoyed that it ended up being complex.

Over the years my husband, Michael, and I have enjoyed reading books aloud together – a motley collection, including Tom Sawyer, The Hobbit, and a variety of marriage books. One of our favorite reads was a book titled A Severe Mercy, by Sheldon Vanauken. Sheldon writes about his courtship with Davy, and how they speak of a Shining Barrier – their way of protecting their love. “But why does love need to be guarded?” Sheldon writes. “Against what enemies? We looked about us and saw…a world where love did not endure. The smile of inloveness seemed to promise for ever, but friends who had been in love last year were parting this year… It must be that, whatever its promise, love does not by itself endure. But why? What was the failure behind the failure of love?

On a day in early spring we thought we saw the answer. The killer of love is creeping separateness… Taking love for granted… Ceasing to do things together. Finding separate interests. ‘We’ turning into ‘I’. Self. Self-regard: what I want to do… This was the way of creeping separateness. And in the modern world, everything favoured it… The failure of love might seem to be caused by hate or boredom or unfaithfulness with a lover; but those were results. First came the creeping separateness: the failure behind the failure.” Michael and I incorporated “creeping separateness” into our vocabulary, and over the years when our pulse was not strong, we have made choices to reverse the creeping separateness. Because love is fragile.

We joke that we avoided the “seven year itch” by having a baby a few weeks after our seventh wedding anniversary. We were too busy and tired to be dissatisfied with our relationship. But when we emerged from sleep deprivation, we realized that some creeping separateness had taken place. My self was eclipsed by needy children, his self absorbed at work and stressed at home. Year ten was especially difficult, and we spent year twelve going to counseling every two weeks. From counseling we learned how to stop conversations when we get emotionally flooded, and how to repair after fights or misunderstandings. Our relationship became noticeably healthier and we felt safer and more content with each other. But several months later one seemingly innocuous conversation caused probably the most painful rift we’ve experienced to date. We withdrew from each other, and it took a lot of talking and listening to repair. Love is fragile.

In the 1997 movie Jungle 2 Jungle, father Michael Cromwell gets acquainted with his teenage son for the first time when he brings him for a visit to New York. The boy, Mimi Siku, spent his first 13 years living a tribal life with his mother in South America, and is trying to understand why his father only chooses one wife.

Mimi Siku: Many females in your village, Baboon. (Baboon is the boy’s tribal name for his father).
Michael: Mm-hmm.
Mimi Siku: Why you pick only one?
Michael: Well, when you pick one to love, it’s very different. It’s like there’s a big picture of her in front of your face at all times. And the picture’s so big you can’t see any other females.

My romantic side loves that imagery. My cynical side says it’s not true. I’ve noticed other men since I’ve been married. My heart rate has quickened when a certain coworker entered the room. Love is fragile.

Perhaps the best teacher of love is the dance of intimacy. As much as I want to be a “good” wife, always available to my husband, I have choked myself with guilt and shame over all the times I am not available. Rather than growing love, my attempts to do the “right” thing have caused pain and built barriers. I have not given myself permission to be overwhelmed or grumpy or tired, and every time my own state interferes with us as a couple, trying harder is like putting out a fire with more fuel. Trying to be sexy when I feel like crying, or trying to have a difficult conversation when I feel out of control, or trying to have a fun date night when I feel alone even in the company of my husband… these are the hard lessons that have taught me love cannot be forced. I can be honest, or I can hide. But I cannot make myself something I am not. It’s hard to own my bad moods, to admit the part I played in a conversation that didn’t go well, to share how I’m feeling when I am just as confused as my husband about what’s going on inside me. But when I am honest, my actual self is there in front of Michael, and he has the option of responding with his actual self. When I am in hiding, intimacy is impossible. And so I have learned ever so slowly how to show up, and to risk being fragile, because love is fragile.

Love is less about working hard and more about letting go. Less about putting my best foot forward, and more about trusting God and my husband when my worst foot trips us up. Less about one long-term commitment, and more about one thousand in-this-moment choices. Less about getting things right, and more about apologizing. Less about avoiding conflict, and more about learning how to repair after a fight. Less about agreeing, and more about learning how to disagree. Less about holding it all together, and more about letting my heart be seen when it all falls apart. Love is fragile.

This Friday, September 18, Michael and I will celebrate 15 years of marriage. Fifteen years of marriage is so far from being something I accomplished. It is a gift. After fifteen years I feel more humble and less proud, more tentative and less certain, more like I’m witnessing a miracle and less like I’m reaching a goal. Love cannot be forced, performed, achieved. It is only by God’s grace I have turned toward Michael when I felt like turning away, I have chosen kind thoughts instead of the poison of self pity, I have talked about things I would rather not talk about, I have forgiven when I wanted to protect myself instead. Promising another 15 years seems awfully presumptuous. I don’t know the future. Don’t get me wrong – I do plan to protect our marriage and I have no intention of doing otherwise. But for me, I love better when I stop trying so hard. I can’t tell you what will happen tomorrow, but today I can choose to show up, to see Michael and to let him see me, because love is fragile.

I am so humbled and grateful that I have been granted the gift of a life partner who chooses me over and over, who seeks God alongside me, and who also shows up in his brokenness. Thank you Michael, for forgivingness, for faithfulness, for friendship; for running out to the mailbox for me in your boxers; for doing chores you don’t like, because you like me; for fighting and repairing; for making me laugh; for getting to me know me deeply and still liking me; for hugs; for honesty; for random movie quotes. Life with you is hard and wonderful, scary and safe, and I would love nothing more than to spend the next million moments – one at a time – being fragile with you.

To My Fellow Recovering Perfectionists

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I am a recovering perfectionist. Perfectionism sneaks up from behind, confronts me directly, whispers lies in my ear, preys on me when I don’t expect it, and offers to be my friend when I’m lonely. This voice coming from all directions is hard to silence. This suggestion that everything could be right and good, if only… (fill in the blank). It’s an addiction.

Into this mess comes God/Jesus/Spirit, with comfort and hope. And here I wonder if perhaps this longing for perfection is not entirely evil. God and His ways are perfect. Could the constant pulsing of my desire for perfection be a constant reminder that I desire God? And could I find contentment in letting Him be the perfect One?

I’m not alone and I don’t have to get everything right. I’m safe with You. Even when there’s pee on the bath mat an hour after I washed it, and I feel guilty for pushing my kids too hard, and hormones take my emotions on a ride, and I struggle to enjoy life. Even then.

I may be tired and emotional but I don’t have to blame. I don’t have to blame myself. I don’t have to blame others. You are my defender and deliverer in this battle of the mind.

Today is not about how good I am. But it might be about how good You are.

You don’t mind if I’m not productive this morning, or if I need to lean heavy on You.

There is peace in letting God be God, and letting me be human.

Today may I find contentment in being very small but having a very big and powerful Daddy.

There is perfection, but not in me or the world around me.

Our relationship will never be perfect on my side, but always perfect on Your side. I can’t trust myself in the way I can trust You. No matter how today goes, I can find joy in the fact that You are perfect. You are batting a thousand. You are getting everything right.

Here I am in my brokenness, and here You are in Your perfection, and here we commune in Your grace.

Is It Really Safe?, Part 3

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I was listening to a sermon by one of my favorite speaker-authors, Ty Gibson, when an innocent-appearing statement sent me someplace I hadn’t been intending to go. He said, “To know God, as God really is, vaccinates the soul against violence.” I looked at those words bold across my screen, and I wanted to believe them, but my knowledge of the Old Testament stopped me cold. I began thinking of Bible stories I hadn’t thought about for years, and as I much as I wanted to believe knowing God moves me away from violence, I wasn’t at all sure the Bible supports that. I say I know a loving God, but does a loving God encourage violence? Suddenly I felt betrayed.

Is My Friend A Murderer?

There’s this Guy named Jesus, who is also Father and Spirit, and I love Him. And He loves me. All the time. Even when it makes no sense. We talk, we listen, we sit together. Jesus is beautiful. And Jesus is changing my life. He gets close to me and He speaks healing over wounds and truth over lies. He is generous and graceful and kind, and He holds me. He surprises me with grace. But He refuses to get me all fixed up perfect because He knows I would say, “Ha! I knew what was most important to You all along was for me to be good.” And that’s not what’s most important to Him at all. We’re friends. Not because we’re even remotely of the same status or on the same plane of existence, but because He wants to be friends with me. (John 15:15)

For reasons unknown to me, I had never stopped to think about whether my Friend is a murderer. Whether He asks His human friends to kill. Whether He punishes, sometimes with death. Despite being familiar with violence in the Bible, I had never engaged with it in the context of my friendship with Jesus. All of a sudden I had a lot of questions about my Friend. What’s going on? Am I seeing things wrong? Is the Bible seeing things wrong? If my Friend is both loving and violent, why does everything in me want it to be different than that?

Biblical Violence

I read the entire Bible several times between the ages of eight and twenty. I have been exposed many times to the stories of the Old Testament. As a child and youth, I don’t recall that I ever felt any sadness, concern, or horror. Now I’m circling back to these stories from a place of relationship – the place of loving God – and I feel betrayed. It’s like I thought I knew someone and then come to find out they are a mass murderer. I am shocked. Hurt. I don’t know what to do next. Have I been duped? Did God have a change of heart? Is He both loving Father and mass murderer? If so, will there come a day when God asks me to murder?

Consider this passage:

Moses saw that Aaron had let the people get completely out of control, much to the amusement of their enemies. So he stood at the entrance to the camp and shouted, “All of you who are on the Lord’s side, come here and join me.” And all the Levites gathered around him. Moses told them, “This is what the Lord, the God of Israel, says: Each of you, take your swords and go back and forth from one end of the camp to the other. Kill everyone—even your brothers, friends, and neighbors.” The Levites obeyed Moses’ command, and about 3,000 people died that day. Then Moses told the Levites, “Today you have ordained yourselves for the service of the Lord, for you obeyed him even though it meant killing your own sons and brothers. Today you have earned a blessing.”

Exodus 32:25-29, NLT

That’s heavy.

I am not drawn toward God in this story, but rather repulsed. I recoil. And then I dismiss. Yes, the Bible says that, but in recent years I have chosen not to think about it. Not on purpose – I just began reading religious books more than the Bible, and my Bible reading centered more in the New Testament. This is fine and good unless my life bears evidence of what I believe about God. If that is true, I cannot sweep this under the rug. For if in some corner of my heart I believe God is violent, then when my world changes, might I be convinced to be violent? Might I become the person killing in the name of God? Oh, I know it feels so far away from my safe and comfortable middle class American life. But I’m guessing it was far from the minds of many who joined Hitler’s army. Is it possible that if I don’t think about this now, it will think for me later?

Ahhh, yes. This is a good question. But I cannot let fear lead this discussion. Scrambling for certainty does me no favors. Trying to eliminate all uncomfortable answers seems an equally wretched path. So what is left? History isn’t much help. It’s full of stories of people killing in God’s name, and being killed in God’s name. Who is right? Some people say every word of the Bible is to be taken at face value, and some say it’s not. Who is right? Must I hold God at arm’s length until I figure out what’s going on?

Still Friends

As I experience this confusion and feelings of betrayal, within 48 hours of the I-don’t-know-if-I-can-believe-this-non-violence-statement upheaval, I have conversations with four people who listen and affirm my struggle. Not one glosses over it or tries to fix it. They listen. They share their own struggles. They sit with me in the not-knowing. When I realize what has happened, I weep with gratitude and relief. I may feel lost, but the God who loves me is watching over me. He doesn’t come out of the sky with an answer to quiet all my questions. He doesn’t tell me not to question. He sends me four friends to walk with me. He walks with me.

I don’t have the theological answers to my questions. Perhaps God is misrepresented by Biblical authors. Perhaps violence is at times an act of mercy. Perhaps God gets blood on His hands when He reaches down into this bloody, human mess, and I don’t see the whole picture. My heart, my eyes and ears, are open. I desire understanding. But I don’t have to have an answer now. Answers are not as satisfying as they seem. I could be safe with answers. But I am safer with God. And so, while I regret to inform you that you have read this far only to discover I have no answers, I am delighted to tell you that Jesus and I are still friends.

Safe With You

Lord, I’m safe with You. Nothing I can say would make You feel guarded or put up defenses. You look at me with an open face and posture. You want me to know You, and You are vulnerable enough to care what I think about You, because You love me. And yet You’ve been misunderstood for thousands of years. You’re used to Your own children spouting off nonsense about You. You are safe. Oh how I need a safe place, a safe Person! A place where I can get things wrong and I’m not rejected. May I always take refuge in You. And may Your love be a big enough refuge to bear all things.

Is It Really Safe?, Part 2

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As I described in Is It Really Safe?, Part 1, I have been in a funk. It’s a tropical storm of emotions, fueled by the lie that my value is based on my performance. It’s not the first time this lie has pounced on me in my weakness, and I am certain it will not be the last. I find some comfort knowing that God sees me and loves me. He invites me to be as I am, to be known by Him, to take a deep breath with the knowing: it’s ok to not be ok. As I continue to battle the monster and alternately fight and give up as each day goes by, God keeps inviting me into His goodness.

Invited To Be Sought

Unsurprisingly, my funk takes a toll on my marriage. It’s exhausting to live with a depressed person, and it’s exhausting to be depressed. With my husband I feel compelled to take the path of least resistance. I don’t have much energy for intimacy (emotional, physical, or otherwise), but neither do I have the energy for a big breach or fight and then repairing. So I’m walking on eggshells, somewhere in between (if that’s even possible). As I write about this in my prayer journal, God says, “I’ll help you walk on eggshells.”

Uh… Wait, what did You just say? I am stunned into silence. This is not what I expected. When I find my voice I say God can’t possibly mean that. Doesn’t He have a solution? Isn’t there something I ought to be doing differently? Slowly I internalize that He does, in fact, mean what He said. He affirms my struggle and joins me in it. Perhaps this isn’t as bizarre as it seemed to me at first. After all, didn’t He save us humans by becoming one of us? This is central to the way He operates. He seeks me, He finds me, and He stays with me. Oh God, Your companionship would mean the world to me.

Two weeks after the “God, what did You just say?” conversation, bedtime with the kids crashed and burned. It was late. Nothing went well. It ended with my five year old crying herself to sleep in the guest room and me in time out downstairs. As I sat in the recliner crying and staring out at the trees, I was again reassured of God’s companionship. No advice, no fixing. Instead, a quiet spirit.

The lessons of love are freeing: I am invited to be. This invitation stands even when I am seen – no masks, no filters, no protection. God wants to be my companion, exactly where I am. Even when where I am is unhealthy and un-beautiful and unpleasant. Even when it is lonely and sad and frustrating. He will be here. With me. Emmanuel: God with us.

I am invited to be sought, and to be found. And when God finds me, hiding under a blanket of shame, red-handed from my latest sin, deeply mired in my mistakes, He stays there with me. Oh precious gift! My failings do not sentence me to solitary confinement. This God-Man Jesus knows what it is like to be human, and He stands with me, sits with me, struggles with me. I always thought God didn’t really get it. Yes, he was tempted, but He didn’t sin (Hebrews 4:15). So how could He possibly understand what it feels like to fail: to find myself again and again on the other side of a choice I wish I’d made differently; to treat the people I love the most with aggression, disdain, selfishness. He doesn’t know what it feels like to suck at life.

But I think I was wrong. Paul says, “God made him who had no sin to be sin for us” (2 Corinthians 5:21a). Sin separates. Jesus cried, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46). The only reason He could have felt forsaken is if He became sin for us and experienced the feelings of separation and despair that plague every human. He does indeed know how heavy it is. How lonely it is. How desperate. And this is what He does: He seeks me. He finds me. He shares with me this ugly knowing of sin and separation, and He doesn’t run. He stays.

Invited To Enjoy

In his book Come to the Cradle Michael Card observes that children are occupied with playful imitation of what they see adults doing. He asks, “Could my work become playful imitation of what I see my Father doing?” I mull this over. It is so different from how I think about life, it is a foreign thought. Card goes on to say, “The point of work is to finish. The point of play is to not finish…” Again I pause, unsure what to do with this observation.

Finished is safe. Unfinished is negligent. Given my point of view I suppose it’s not surprising that I excel at finishing. I am so determined to finish that I even try to finish my children. Do the tasks, learn the skill, become mature.

I am realizing that often the way I think about my life is unhealthy and counterproductive. So I approach God one morning with a question, and we have this conversation:
How do You think about my life? How do You want me to think about it?
“Life is to be held loosely. Even people who are deeply sad or troubled can enjoy life. You have more capacity for enjoyment than you think. Keep slowing down. The answer is not more.”
Are you sure? Because I feel like I’m hardly doing anything.
“Think about the gift analogy. I have called you to play, not work. There is so much to enjoy in your life, but we must take this slow, because you will be tempted to turn enjoyment into work.”
I sigh. You know me so well.
Why do I always think of martyrs and people in concentration camps when I think about goodness/happiness/enjoyment?
“You are still living in fear. That’s ok. You won’t always.”
Ok. Will You help me enjoy something today?
“Of course I will. I love to help you! This will be fun!”
Ok. (Pause) Do You really feel that way?
“Yes, I do.”
You’re trying to speak life over me, aren’t You? I’m sorry I make it so hard.
“It’s not hard, because I love you with my whole big self. I don’t think you know how much patience I have.”
No, I suppose I don’t. Ok Lord, go head and make me alive. (Pause). Are you sure it’s not hard? Because I feel like a tough case / lost cause / disaster.
*Laughter* (is anything too hard for God?)

I find it very odd that God wants me to enjoy life. It’s not a new concept, but in all honesty, I always hear it through the lens of “doing the right thing” and it sounds like work: there are so many wonderful things in life we ought always to be joyful. Ugh. I guess there’s something wrong with me.

God enters into my misconceptions and fears and invites me to enjoy, to hold life loosely. I am so accustomed to holding life with an iron grip that I’m not even sure where to start. I have the “scarcity mindset” Brené Brown describes in her book, The Gifts of Imperfection: “We’re afraid to lose what we love the most, and we hate that there are no guarantees. We think not being grateful and not feeling joy will make it hurt less. We think if we can beat vulnerability to the punch by imaging loss, we’ll suffer less.” This is a lie I have believed. I protect myself behind the safety of pessimism/realism, hard work, and control. Enjoying is scary because it’s vulnerable. Brown continues, “If we’re not practicing gratitude and allowing ourselves to know joy, we are missing out on the two things that will actually sustain us during the inevitable hard times.” Hmm.

Why is it that I don’t want to enjoy what I have now, because I don’t know what I’ll have tomorrow? I don’t want to drink in abundance when I can imagine a future without abundance. It’s like I want a guarantee of a long and happy life, or I won’t engage. I want to know that if I do things right everything will turn out well, or that if I trust Jesus I will experience safety in all things: relationships, finances, health, my faith community, and the list goes on. Not knowing sets me on edge. Being set on edge is the opposite of enjoyment. So here I am trying to perform an impossible balancing act while holding onto – well – nothing, with an iron grip.

And here God is, inviting me to loosen my grip and to enjoy. To play. To have fun. To be grateful. To slow down. I feel like God is laying out a lavish banquet before me, but I have not yet partaken. I’m still looking at it. When I fill up a plate and start eating, perhaps I’ll write another blog post about enjoyment.

For now, I am grateful that I need not hold tighter or try harder. I can be still and know that God is seeing me, seeking me, celebrating me, and being the companion my soul longs for most deeply.

Is It Really Safe?, Part 1

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I have been in a funk. I have been dragged around by emotions I don’t understand until I feel like an empty shell and a lost cause. I have lots of questions and no answers. Confusion and discouragement pepper my journal pages:

– Somehow I got lost.
– Where am I? Where did I go?
– I feel like a failure. I feel condemned and alone and sad and afraid.
– I don’t know how to be. I don’t know who I am.
– I don’t matter. I am valuable only as I fulfill the roles I have been given to fulfill. I don’t enjoy my life. I don’t know how. I don’t have permission to. When I hear the words, “you do matter,” I think blah, blah, blah, that’s just a bunch of hogwash. Who are you? A fairy to grant me my dreams and wishes?
– “Be thankful. Smile. Be faithful.” Don’t feed me that crap. How can I love my life and hate it at the same time?
– Actually, I don’t think I hate my life. I think I hate myself.
– Surely there must be some relief. I don’t know how to be in this place.

Deep in my gut, my soul, my heart, I believe that my value is based on my performance. It is agonizing to perform poorly for weeks on end and be forced to face this monster. I have been wrestling the monster for years, and sometimes it gets easier. Right now it’s harder. As I wrestle and grieve and worry, God extends invitations.

Invited To Be

My brave husband, overwhelmed by the tearful shell of a wife he’s been living with, courageously asked what he could do to help me. I had no answer, so I took the question to God, and God said I need to be reminded of these things: everything is going to be ok. It’s ok to be broken and it’s ok to not know why. It’s ok to do the best I can and it’s ok for that to be small and basic. I don’t have to wallow, but I don’t have to fight either. I can just be. I can be grateful my daughters are relatively independent. I can be content with small things. I can learn to be safe with myself. I can praise God for being with me in this. I can be still. I can be imperfect. I can have a different capacity every day (I cannot express how frustrating this is for me!). I can read and listen to things that are affirming instead of challenging. I can be alone or I can reach out. I can have days in which my best feels more like my worst.

As I was driving downtown recently, a car passed me with these words big and bold across the rear windshield: “It’s ok to not be ok.” I took a deep breath. As the days pass, I keep circling back to these words and taking more deep breaths. It’s ok to not be ok. Discouragement and confusion does not make me unsuitable for life. When I feel tired and anxious, dialed up to ten, but seem only to have energy for emotional turmoil and none for the tasks of life: I can come and curl up in the arms of God, still and loved. I can trade lethargy and despair for permission to do less. I can admit my capacity is low. I can breathe deeply of love that is not earned. I can trust God’s strength instead of fearing my weakness. I can remember it’s ok to not be ok.

Jesus said, “But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things [the things you worry you won’t have] shall be added to you.” (Matthew 6:33, NKJV) That is a big promise. My skeptical side wonders if God knows how many things I worry about. Skepticism aside, what exactly is the “kingdom of God”? What would it look like in my life? It seems Jesus wanted people to know, because He told many stories beginning with the words, “The kingdom of heaven is like…”
– Letting myself be found and celebrated (Parables of the lost sheep and lost coin)
– Letting myself be cultivated – soil for seed (Parable of the sower)
– Letting myself be imperfect (Parable of the wheat and tares)
– Letting myself be the least (Parable of the mustard seed)
– Letting myself be slow (Parable of the leaven)
– Letting myself be treasured (Parable of the hidden treasure)
– Letting myself be sought (Parable of the pearl of great price)
– Letting myself be gathered (Parable of the dragnet)

When I look back over the list, I see – as if for the first time – the phrase “letting myself be…” God is inviting me to be. No explanations, no defenses, no requirements. No “right” or “wrong” way to be. My experience is valid as it is. I am invited to be. Lord, maybe today is less about what I do and more about who I am, and maybe who I am isn’t so scary if You are with me.

Invited To Be Seen

In God’s presence there is a priceless gift added to the permission to be: an invitation to be seen. I am learning to let God see me. But in the process of letting Him see me, I also see myself, and this can be painful and scary. I don’t realize how much I am hiding until He comes to find me. I am hiding from pain, but I am also hiding from love. I am hiding from my feelings, for fear that really feeling them will render me unable to function. I am hiding from the people I love, because I don’t want to frighten or burden them, and even more because I don’t want to be rejected by them. I am hiding from myself, because my own anger against myself is frightful, and my assessment of myself is scathing.

All this hiding is exhausting. Being seen is terrifying. It seems all options are agony. I consider an invitation from God to think about what I want, and this takes my terror to a whole new level. Wanting something is vulnerable. Wanting reveals my inner self. Wanting is frivolous. Wanting is not safe. Wanting is an invitation to be invalidated. In my heart, wanting is a minefield. Yet clearly, hiding behind my duties is choking me, and so – tentatively – I consider my wants. I speak them even though I feel mocked by them. I want to feel good at something. I want to follow God. I want some time when no one needs me. I want to have good posture. Gently God invites me to consider not just my general wants, but what I want today. This is getting very personal… I want to sit by the fire in my new chair and read. I want to laugh. I don’t want to think about meals, cooking, or food planning and shopping. I want to enjoy my children. Phew! I survived. I feel vulnerable, but to my surprise, saying what I want did not wreck me.

I am seen, and I am still invited to be. This means the invitation to be was not imaginary, contrived, or based on my being – my existence – turning out “right.” I am truly invited to be me – not the better version of myself that I am always competing with and losing to. Here I am, sad and vulnerable me, seen and affirmed in my messy existence.

Brené Brown ends “The Wholehearted Parenting Manifesto” with these words: “I will let you see me, and I will always hold sacred the gift of seeing you. Truly deeply seeing you.” God holds sacred the gift of seeing me. I am safe, I am honored, I am cherished. Even when I’m not ok.

Give or Take

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Journey By Journal

I think God is trying to tell me something, but I’m not listening very well.

Prayer journal, April 28, 2020
Somehow we keep circling back to the same thing: You want to provide for me, and You are able to provide for me from Your riches and abundance. You don’t run out. You don’t forget. You are I AM. The most important thing about me today is that I am loved. Let that be enough. Teach me Your abundance. I’m still trying to be something, to earn. Teach me that You are really Something.

Prayer journal, May 5, 2020
Thomas: “Marry me. Marry me for my money. People do it every day.”
Joanna: “I’m not amused, Thomas, and I have a great sense of humor.”
Thomas: “Then marry me for love.” (from the movie Sabrina (1995))
You want to give me all that You have, but You want to love me first, and me to love You. You want to marry me for love. (Not for what You can get from me or what I can get from You).

Prayer journal, May 8, 2020
I come to You desperate, hoping to wring something out of You to get me through the day. I am sorry. I forgot You are God. Please have Your way in me. Remind me that being humbled by You is better (safer, more real) that being exalted by myself. It’s like You’re trying to make me something, but You can’t because I am so underfoot You can’t work. Please help me hold still and watch You. Teach me stillness again. Help me trust You to take action. You with Your abundant love and grace, Your “glorious, unlimited resources” (Ephesians 3:16), Your upside-down ways, Your crazy love. It’s like I’m blind and You’re trying to touch my eyes, but I’ve got my hands over them. Or I’m trying new potions or routines or seances to cure them. There is no room for You in this place overflowing with filthy rags (Isaiah 64:6). Lord by Your grace I open my hands to You. After that there is nothing left to do. You will see to the blindness, the peace, the stillness, the humility, the abundance. You are worthy. You are worthy. You are worthy.

Prayer journal May 10, 2020
Today I came heavy with all things, and I started talking about how tired I am. You interrupted me and said, “Remember, I’m here to give to you, not take from you.”

Prayer journal May 13, 2020
Humans most often give gifts in the context of celebration: birthdays, holidays, graduations/promotions and so on. You keep on giving gifts when there is nothing to celebrate (or perhaps with You there is always something to celebrate?).

I Don’t Get It

If I know God is so eager to give, why am I so hesitant to sign up? Why do I keep hoping this is some sort of equal partnership in which I know what to expect from Him and He knows what to expect from me? Why do I want things to be “right” more than I want them to be real? I suspect two things.

First, my heart is still on the hard side. Still more stone than flesh (Ezekiel 36:26). I am like the disciples observing Jesus and just not getting it. Remember this story? They’re out in the boonies with several thousand hungry people and Jesus tells them to feed the people; they’re like “with what, Jesus?” So he tells them to round up what they can and they come back with five loaves of bread and two fish. Then Jesus feeds all those people and there are twelve baskets of leftovers. (When Jesus gets ahold of something the leftovers are more than you started with.)

After the mass crowd-feeding they’re still trying to find some peace and quiet (they were in the boonies in the first place to be alone, but that didn’t work out), and Jesus sends the disciples across the lake while He goes off alone to pray. Then He comes walking across the lake in the middle of the night, “but when they saw him walking on the water, they cried out in terror, thinking he was a ghost. They were all terrified when they saw him. But Jesus spoke to them at once. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ he said. ‘Take courage! I am here!’ Then he climbed into the boat, and the wind stopped. They were totally amazed, for they still didn’t understand the significance of the miracle of the loaves. Their hearts were too hard to take it in.” (Luke 6:49-52)

Did you catch that last bit? “They were totally amazed, for they still didn’t understand the significance of the miracle of the loaves. Their hearts were too hard to take it in.” They watched Jesus feed several thousand people with one basket of food, and it went right over their heads. They didn’t even know what happened. That’s me. I just don’t get it. I see abundance, but I don’t really see it. My heart is too hard to take it in.

Receiving – Are You Sure?

Second, I value predictability. God is wild. He is rock (Psalm 18:2), but He is also wind (John 3:8). I cannot manipulate Him. I cannot predict Him. I find this unsettling.

I am like the Israelites asking for a king. God was a divine larger-than-life personality to grapple with, but a king, simply by nature of being human, was understandable. Predictable. “Give us a king to judge us like all the other nations have,” the leaders said to Samuel (Samuel 8:5b). Samuel wasn’t too sure about this plan, but God told him to go ahead and give them a king, “…for they are rejecting me, not you. They don’t want me to be their king any longer.” (Samuel 8:7b)

Then God tells Samuel to warn the people about what it will be like to have a king. The phrase “he will take” dominates the passage (1 Samuel 8:11-18, NKJV). God tells his people that the king will take their sons and daughters, their fields/vineyards/groves and what they produce, as well as their servants and animals. After the warning the people say, “No, but we will have a king over us… that our king may go out before us and fight our battles.” (1 Samuel 8:20) Hadn’t God already been going out before them and fighting their battles? I remember stories of walls falling and pitchers breaking – victories won by God Himself. Why so eager to have a king?

A king is a king, but God is God. I, too, am willing to trade a God who gives, for a king who takes. I know what a king will take, but I don’t know what God will give. In fact, I feel so much more comfortable being taken from than being given to, that I try to make God take from me. I want Him to bargain with me: you do this, and I’ll do that. I beg for Him to take my problems, and fear for Him to take my freedom.

But when I come to His presence I find a God who gives. This is good, and yet unsettling. Perhaps even nonsensical. Why would God be interested in giving to me? To quote the movie Sabrina again:
Linus: “You don’t deserve her, but she appears to love you.”
David: “Doesn’t that worry you a little bit? I mean, about her mental health.”
I worry about God’s mental health. I don’t deserve Him, but He appears to love me. I would feel much better if He would be proud of me for my accomplishments or disappointed with me for my failures. But He is unwilling to engage with me in this way. He insists on loving me. Full stop. No conditions.

Faith To Receive

Could I come to receive? Perhaps I could come to God’s presence to receive and give rather than to take and be taken from. What do I have to give? Trust is a gift. And reverence, and worship, and gratitude. Honesty – letting myself be seen. These are gifts. But perhaps God’s favorite gift of all is when I learn to receive – to accept the gifts He has for me without trying to deserve them first. Perhaps I could be grateful instead of incredulous.

Prayer journal, May 12, 2020
Faith is letting God decide what He’s going to do. Perhaps it’s time to let God give, and maybe I could even receive without arguing.

What If?

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I’m reading a book that is speaking beautifully to what God is doing in my life right now. It is resonating deeply with me. It seems every chapter is putting words to something I have experienced, and at the same time inviting me to know more. I found out the author is a pastor in Portland. We live in the Pacific Northwest and sometimes visit Portland, so… maybe sometime on a trip we could go to his church and meet him. I have just a bit of nervous excitement, considering this possibility. I imagine I would have a great conversation with him, because I feel like he already understands me, and I him.

Has this ever happened to you? Maybe you have a favorite musical artist you would love to meet, because their music has touched you or been the soundtrack to significant seasons or events in your life. Or maybe, like me, you’ve read a book and felt connected so much to the message or story that you wanted to meet the author. Maybe there’s an actor who has played a role that resonated with you, and it would be a dream come true to meet him/her. Perhaps there’s someone in history that you long to meet. Maybe you admire someone who has changed their corner of the world with loving service to the poor or by championing social justice, and you would be honored just to get the chance to shake their hand.

Admiration often leads to a desire to connect. We see something, feel something, hear something that resonates with our selves and we feel seen and known. Sometimes we breath a sigh of relief that we are not alone. And sometimes we think how lovely it would be to meet the person who wrote/created/did that thing we connected with. When we feel seen and known – or when someone opens a portal for us to see and know something we were previously blind to – we automatically respond with an open-hearted desire for connection.

What if I could see God’s creating and doing and acting with these same eyes of admiration? How awe-inspiring it is to watch a sunrise or see dolphins playing in the ocean. I think about the incredible transformation of metamorphosis – a squishy grub becoming a beautiful winged insect. I think about trees that look dead in winter and every spring burst forth in fat buds of leaves and flowers. I think about the peace of a lake in the forest, or the power of a roaring waterfall. I think about all the selfless acts around the world – among my friends, on the news, and in books about times past. I think about all the heroes who have put others’ lives before their own.

And I think, what if I could meet that Guy – the very one who paints thousands of breathtaking sunsets. The one who made the dolphins, the birds, and all the beautiful, curious, strong, smart, playful creatures. He must be an incredible Guy! What if there is one Person behind every act of kindness, sacrifice, and love the world over, and I could meet him?! Talk about a celebrity of celebrities!

What if this Person could bear the full weight of my admiration: I would never find out he changed his mind about loving, or had an affair, or embezzled money, or alienated his children, or went bankrupt, or stopped telling the truth. Rather, the more I learned about him the more I witnessed his integrity. What if this desire I have to shake hands with someone I admire, or to have an intimate dinner with someone famous whose talents inspire me, or to connect with someone who has connected with me – whose words or music or life has entered the sacred spaces in my heart and comforted me or changed me or simply been my inner companion – what if all that desire is realized in Jesus? What if all the admiration and inspiration – the moments of connection and feeling known – were actually moments with Jesus?

What if the most incredible Personality ever to walk the earth knows who I am? And what if he wants to not only shake hands with me and have an intimate dinner with me, but also to be my best friend? To be seen with me and know that I am being seen with him. What if I found out those sunsets and songs were messages he was hoping would find their way to me? What if he is as excited to meet me as I am to meet him; and he is as excited to be my friend as I am to be his? What if he is so humble that I never feel less-than in his presence, yet so powerful and dynamic that I am infused with zest for life just being around him?

What if all the people I have admired, all the sunsets that have quieted my soul, all the words and music that have held me or inspired me or challenged me or made me feel seen – what if the Man behind all that doesn’t live in Portland, but right here? What if I could meet him right now? And what if, when I meet him – full of nervous anticipation, admiration, and self-consciousness-trying-to-be-calm – he says he wants to stay with me for a while (well, actually forever): to have intimate dinners every day, to write music together, to have me sit beside him as he paints the sky? What if all I have admired and all that has inspired me are the work of one Person who is as deeply interested in me as I am in him? What if every day he wants to see me and know me?

What if I start to become like him? What if I make more beautiful things? What if I commit more selfless acts? What if I do things that invite others to be seen and known?

And what if this friendship is not just for life, but for the afterlife? Not only does he want to live with me at my house, but he’s making a room for me in his opulent mansion. There’s a room with my name carved on the door. And there is music and celebration and acts of love and intimate dinners every day. Finally my heart is full. My admiration has met its object and I am overcome by a sense of completeness and wholeness I know I was always looking for. Hope has been fulfilled. My heart is at rest.

Unforgettable in every way
And forever more, that’s how you’ll stay
That’s why, darling, it’s incredible
That someone so unforgettable
Thinks that I am unforgettable too

– “Unforgettable” by Gordon Irving

 

 

Soul Hurry

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The “Skill”

I have a skill I don’t like to talk about, but I’m going to talk about it anyway. My skill is this: I can hurry even when there’s nothing to do. I know, it sounds impossible. But I assure you I’m actually quite good at it. Partly because I can hurry with my mind and/or my body, so even if I’m sitting on the couch I can do a lot of mental hurrying. Hurrying is the evil twin of my long-cherished idol, productivity. I feel safest when I am getting things done, but if I can’t actually be accomplishing something there is always hurry to help me feel better.

The Story

If I go back really far, I think I can remember a time before hurry was my identity. As a young child, I didn’t have to worry much about time because the grownups did that. I could play without thinking about time or schedule. I remember spending hours washing one meal’s dishes – making as many soap bubbles as possible. And those are good memories. Kids are skilled at being fully present (and very slow).

As my awareness of time increased and my responsibilities grew, somewhere along the line I realized that if I hurried I was valuable. People who get things done are desirable – as family members, students, employees, and even friends. And it’s not that getting things done is bad. But for me it was a slippery slope from being a hard working teen to adopting hurry as a frame of mind and a way of having value. Without my knowing it, hurry became a deeply ingrained part of my identity.

Then – a couple decades later – God asked our family to make a lifestyle change – to pursue slowness, so to speak. Around the first of this year we eliminated most afternoon and evening commitments and reduced weekend activities. We began to more carefully consider all the invitations and opportunities that came our way. Then the pandemic hit and our pace has slowed even more.

Somehow the slowing of my schedule has opened my eyes to the hurry of my soul. Here I am with only the basic tasks of living before me, and I’m still carrying around this sense that I am not being productive enough or fast enough. I’m still rushing my kids, even though we have nowhere to go. I begin to wonder, do I have hurry in my soul? How is it possible that I can have nothing on my schedule and still feel compelled to rush through the dishes; to lament a to-do list not finished when I have all of tomorrow to finish it; to hurriedly try to fold the last load of laundry while yelling instructions to my children to get ready for bed?

The Evidence

I’ve noticed hurry has many faces. Most of them are smiled upon in our culture. Here are some of the ways hurry shows up in my life:

  • Efficiency: if I’m not washing or shaving something, I’m not in the shower – I never just stand under the water. When I carry groceries in from the car, I bring them all in one load even though it cuts the circulation off in my arm and I can’t open the door because my hands are full.
  • Another face of hurry is busyness: oh, there’s a slot on my calendar not filled? I’ll plan a play date, sign up for an evening class, start exercising with a friend, start a new craft project, clean the basement.
  • And let’s not forget always saying “yes”: sure, I can direct VBS; I can listen to all your problems; I can make 21 meals a week from scratch; I can do that project; I’ll be a board member and deaconess and volunteer at the elementary school.
  • Hurry also shows up in multitasking: I always feel better when I’m doing laundry and dishes at the same time, catching up on emails while helping my daughter with homework, crocheting while I watch a movie… you get the idea.
  • Another evidence of hurry in my life is that I cannot abide waiting. Say we’re leaving the house to exercise. I’m ready, but my husband is just putting his socks on. It would cause me physical discomfort to wait for one minute. So I start something – wipe down the kitchen counter, take out the trash, open some mail, pull weeds in the yard. Waiting is simply too uncomfortable. If I have to wait, I immediately find something to do. Consequently, I am often the last one in the car when our family leaves the house. Everyone else buckles up while I’m finishing the thing I started because I couldn’t wait.
  • I am never early to anything. Being early is excruciating. Everyone is just milling around; nothing is happening. I could have been doing something else with this time. I would much rather be five minutes late than shoot for being on time and somehow end up five minutes early.
  • While I’m airing all my dirty laundry, I will also note that I am really bad at “hanging out.” The concept of getting together with one or more friends for an indefinite period of time with an indefinite purpose is terrifying. I thrive in groups with a purpose – exercise, accountability, music, church, mom groups. Also, I can probably count on one hand the number of times in my life I have called someone “just to chat.” I simply don’t know how, and the vulnerability along with the potential of wasting time make this pastime completely out of the question for me.

I think you get the idea. Hurry is showing up all over the place in my life. It feels like I gave hurry permission to be my master. Did I sign something without realizing it? How did I sell my soul and not even notice?

Hurry is like a drug. It’s my go-to when I feel stressed or vulnerable. And if I’m not hurrying myself, I hurry the people around me. I ask my kids, “Why are you still eating?” “How could you possibly take that long to put away one toy?” “You’ve been in your room for 20 minutes and you’re still not dressed?!” I hurry my husband: get out of bed faster; get the yard work done sooner; how can you possibly spend that long in the bathroom?! As John Mark Comer says of his slowed-down life, “I feel… like a drug addict coming off meth.” (From his book The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry)

The Underlying Causes

So the evidence is in: I have a problem, and I’m calling it hurry. But what is underneath the hurry? I am afraid of something – no, two things. I am afraid of finding out I am not valuable, and I am afraid of finding out I am not in control. I believe the first statement is false and the second is true, but somehow they get all entangled inside me.

Not valuable. Somewhere deep in myself I’m still not sure about the gospel. This too-good-to-be-true story drenched in reckless mercy and grace… it can’t really apply to me, right? Some days this is my question. I don’t ask it that boldly. No, I scold myself for making another mommy mess-up. I replay the words I wish I hadn’t said. I keep score.

Other days, when I’m feeling a bit more successful at life, I get cocky. I think I have some control over my life, and I’m exercising my skills – including hurry in all its forms – to insure a good outcome. On these days, I don’t have questions. I feel self-sufficient, and I think maybe I’m finally figuring life out. I take comfort in the (false) security of control (let’s be honest, this is me playing god – being my own savior).

The Antidote

I wonder, what is the antidote to hurry? What will soothe and satisfy this scrambling and striving in my soul? Could there be a truth that addresses both the striving days and the cocky days? The I’m-not-good-enough and the I-(think)-I’m-in-control days? I’m reading John chapter five and am arrested by verse 30: “I can do nothing on my own. I judge as God tells me. Therefore, my judgment is just, because I carry out the will of the one who sent me, not my own will.” (NLT) Not my own will. Is this the way? What if I’m not living for myself? What if my choices are not calculated to control my own destiny? What if a real life is a life lived in continual surrender: not my will, but Thine. Perhaps the way to cease striving, to live a valuable life, is to be in a constant state of surrender. Perhaps the way to stop grasping for control is to trust the will of Someone who is in control.

I have circled around this concept before. I have marveled that surrender is, in fact, freeing. That if I’m not in charge of my life, there is nothing to worry about. I’m just doing what the Big Guy is telling me to do, and it’s His job to work it all out. But the lies I have internalized fight back. The moments – day in and day out – letting His agenda be more important than mine – these moments are hard. I do cry tears as I let go. And sometimes I hold on and won’t let go. It is a slow practice, and imperfect is a hard road for a recovering perfectionist.

The Trade

Am I willing to make the trade? Will I trade control for trust and hurry for surrender? Rather than the exhausting cycle of hurry and control, I could let surrender and trust feed on each other: trust allowing me to surrender, and surrender sending me skidding into the necessity of trust. I could let my Creator speak the truth of my value over me, and I could admit that He is in control.

Here I am, hurrying and worrying through slow and quiet days. Here God shows up, opening my eyes to this parasite on my soul, and offering to take it from me. Slowly He heals, for He knows that giving up control will cause bleeding. Yet He never gives up, because He is determined that I should have the best of His gifts, the abundance of His grace, the wonder of His mercy, the safety of His companionship.

As I haltingly respond to this invitation to trade hurry for surrender, I repeat to myself the “Creed of the Beloved” so simply and beautifully penned by Bobby Schuller:

I’m not what I do.
I’m not what I have.
I’m not what people say about me.
I am the beloved of God.
It’s who I am.
No one can take it from me.
I don’t have to worry.
I don’t have to hurry.
I can trust my friend Jesus and share his love with the world.

Obedience, Part 5 – Disobedience

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This is the last post of six on obedience. Below are links to the previous posts.

Obedience, Part 1 – Turning

Obedience, Part 2 – Agreeing or Trusting?

Obedience, Part 3 – What Precedes Obedience

Obedience, Part Unknown

Obedience, Part 4 – What Follows Obedience

Lest we be tempted to think this post is about those destined for eternal fire, let’s remember that disobedience is a universal experience. Everyone has disobeyed (and will continue disobeying) God. “If we claim we have no sin, we are only fooling ourselves and not living in the truth… we are calling God a liar and showing that his word has no place in our hearts.” (1 John 1:8,10b NLT)

It’s like any relationship – sometimes we make loving and healthy choices, and sometimes we make defensive and hurtful choices. We are never going to grow out of this while we’re on sinful earth. We will always make mistakes, and we will always need to ask for forgiveness. We will inevitably turn toward God sometimes and away from Him other times.

At the risk of being black and white, let’s assume there are two senses in which we can talk about disobedience. The first sense is what I described above – the individual choices we make as we relate to God on a daily basis. The second sense would be that in which disobedience describes the sum of those choices, the consummation of what path we choose in life (acknowledging that our final state is not the result of adding up our deeds, but rather whether we entered into relationship with God).

God knows how all this works, and in the end He will make it known who is in relationship with Him, and who is not. I cannot pretend to truly understand, but I have some clues as to what disobedience might look like, which are best illustrated by sharing insights from writers who have insightfully described various aspects of relationship with God. By looking at relationship, we can understand also what it looks like to not be in relationship.

Challenged or Comfortable?

One clue suggesting disobedience is feeling comfortable: “free from vexation or doubt” (merriam-webster.com); feeling like you’re great, the world is great, and you can just relax and not think about difficult things. In her book Searching for Sunday, Rachel Held Evans says, “Imagine if every church became a place where everyone is safe, but no one is comfortable.” The presence of God is safe, but also awe-inspiring, humbling, and challenging. If you are feeling comfortable, or if everything is going your way, it may be a clue that you are not in His presence.

In his book The Reason for God, Timothy Keller talks about why he believes it’s important to allow the Bible to challenge us. I believe what he describes is true not only for the Bible, but for all the ways God reveals Himself to us and interacts with us: prayer, nature, the teaching of others, and so on. This is what he says:

In any truly personal relationship, the other person has to be able to contradict you. For example, if a wife is not allowed to contradict her husband, they won’t have an intimate relationship. Remember the (two!) movies The Stepford Wives? The husbands of Stepford, Connecticut, decide to have their wives turned into robots who never cross the wills of their husbands. A Stepford wife was wonderfully compliant and beautiful, but no one would describe such a marriage as intimate or personal.

Now, what happens if you eliminate anything from the Bible that offends your sensibility and crosses your will? If you pick and choose what you want to believe and reject the rest, how will you ever have a God who can contradict you? You won’t! You’ll have a Stepford God! A God, essentially, of your own making, and not a God with whom you can have a relationship and genuine interaction. Only if your God can say things that outrage you and make you struggle (as in a real friendship or marriage!) will you know that you have gotten hold of a real God and not a figment of your imagination.

If God seems to always agree with us, or we always agree with Him – if we are feeling comfortable, in control, like we have things figured out – this is a clue that we are not in relationship and therefore not in obedience to God.

Submission or Performance?

Another clue that suggests disobedience is a focus is on behavior rather than submission. Behavior is a distraction from submission. Valuing God’s will above our own is the hardest continuous thing we will ever do, and in comparison it may be easy to put our efforts into being generous, patient, committed, or kind. But if our focus is on our performance and we are not daily coming up against God’s will and learning to let it be above our own, we are not walking in obedience.

In his book Mere Christianity – in the chapter titled “Nice People or New Men” – C.S. Lewis considers whether becoming nice is the main point of being a Christian. He sets forth a Christian character – Miss Bates – who is not nice, and a non-Christian character – Dick Firkin – who is nice. He then explores what they look like in terms of God’s kingdom.

The niceness, in fact, is God’s gift to Dick, not Dick’s gift to God. In the same way, God has allowed natural causes, working in a world spoiled by centuries of sin, to produce in Miss Bates the narrow mind and jangled nerves which account for most of her nastiness. He intends, in His own good time, to set that part of her right. But that is not, for God, the critical part of the business. It presents no difficulties. It is not what He is anxious about. What He is watching and waiting and working for is something that is not easy even for God, because, from the nature of the case, even He cannot produce it by a mere act of power. He is waiting and watching for it both in Miss Bates and in Dick Firkin. It is something they can freely give Him or freely refuse to Him. Will they, or will they not, turn to Him and thus fulfil the only purpose for which they were created?… The question whether the natures they offer or withhold are, at that moment, nice or nasty ones, is of secondary importance. God can see to that part of the problem.

Do not misunderstand me. Of course God regards a nasty nature as a bad and deplorable thing. And, of course, He regards a nice nature as a good thing – good like bread, or sunshine, or water. But these are the good things which He gives and we receive. He created Dick’s sound nerves and good digestion, and there is plenty more where they came from. It costs God nothing, so far as we know, to create nice things: but to convert rebellious wills cost Him crucifixion.

When we get distracted by performance, we’re not engaging in relationship with God. We are speaking in a language He doesn’t understand; coming to His banquet table with no appetite for what He has prepared.

Let’s imagine I am planning to purchase a car, and the advertisement says “CASH ONLY.” I arrive to purchase the vehicle with only a credit card in my wallet, and the seller has no way to process my card. We are unable to make the transaction. Similarly, when I show up hoping to interact with God and I present my performance, no transaction can occur. I must show up with my will; and when I hold my will out to God, a transaction occurs. Our relationship becomes real.

Conclusion

Pursuing comfort and performance lure me into disobedience. These clues are personal to me: comfort and productivity were the first two idols I identified in my life. Your clues may be different. Our enemy the devil is relentless in distracting us from our Creator and Savior, and in our weakness we are so easily confused. If you’re feeling brave, ask the Spirit to show you what your clues are.

Whatever our clues, they are a reminder that perhaps we have missed the Person who loves us and wants to engulf us in His presence. We are thinking of ourselves – distracted by what we have and what we want. It is in thinking of God that we finally come alive.

We usually begin the journey toward God thinking, “What do I have to do to get this or that from him?” but eventually we have to begin thinking, “What do I have to do to get him?” If you don’t make that transition, you will never actually meet the real God, but will only end up believing in some caricature version of him. – Timothy Keller, The Reason for God

I don’t want to waste my life serving a caricature of God. I want to know the real God. This occurs at great cost to self. But may I never forget that God wants to know the real me, and His cost to enter this relationship is infinitely greater.