Posts
To Please or to Trust?
From: Truefaced
By: Bill Thrall, Bruce McNicol, and John Lynch
And so the day comes when we are forced to choose. Eventually, we each find ourselves arriving at a pivotal place on our journey with God. We stand before two roads diverging in the woods, and our choice will make all the difference. We may not even realize we are making this choice, but we all make it many times on our journey. It’s the most important ongoing decision any of us will make as Christians.
As we’re walking down life’s road, we arrive at a tall pole with signs pointing in two different directions. The marker leading to the left simply says pleasing God. The one leading to the right reads Trusting God. It’s hard to choose one over the other, because both roads have a good feel to them. We discover there is no third road and it becomes obvious that we will not be able to jump back and forth between the paths. We must choose one. Only one. It will now indelibly mark the way we live.
Pleasing God and trusting God represent the primary and ultimate motives of our hearts, the inner drives or desires that cause us to act in a certain way. These motives, in turn, produce multiple actions.
Pleasing God and Trusting God are both admirable, but since I can only have one primary motive, I ask myself, “Which of these motives best reflects the relationship I want to have with God?”
In the end, I choose the path marked Pleasing God. The Trusting God path seems too, well, passive. I want a fully alive experience with God. The Pleasing God path seems like the best way there. I think, All right then, my mind’s made up. I am determined to please God. I so long for Him to be happy with me. I’ll discipline myself to achieve this life goal. I know I can do it. Yes, I will do it this time. I will please Him and He will be so pleased with me. So we set off with confidence. We are immediately comforted to see that the path is well traveled.
In time I come to a door with a sign that reads Striving to Be All God Wants Me to Be. These words reflect the values that flow out of the motive of Pleasing God, and they describe how we believe we should act. Since my motive is a determination to please God, I will value being all God wants me to be. So, I open the door by turning the knob of Effort. The motive of Pleasing God has now produced the value of Striving to Be All God Wants Me to Be. As I enter this enormous room, a hostess with a beautiful smile greets me and says in an almost too polite tone, “Welcome to The Room of Good Intentions.”
Oh, yes. I like the ring of this name. I also like being perceived as someone who is well intended. “Well, thanks,” I answer. “I think I’ve found my home. How are you?”
The hostess pauses for a moment and then reaches into her purse to pull out a mask bearing a guarded expression and a thin smile. She puts it on and answers, “Fine. Just fine. And you?”
The entire room gets suddenly quiet, awaiting my answer. “Well, umm, thanks for asking. I’m kind of struggling with some things right now, some areas that don’t seem to be in keeping with who I know I’m supposed to be. I’m not really sure I’m doing well on a lot of—“ The hostess cuts me off, putting her finger to her lips and handing me a similar mask. I’m not quite sure what to do. I don’t really want to put it on, but others in the room are smiling and motioning for me to do so. I want so much to be accepted here that I slowly put it on.
And now everything feels different. I am quickly overcome by the realization that less self-revelation would be a smart game plan here. I realize that no one in this room wants to hear about my struggles, pain, or doubt. If I want to be welcome here, I’d better keep my cards closer to my vest and give the appearance of sufficiency. So, I slowly and carefully say the words, “Actually, I’m fine. I’m doing just fine. Thanks.” Satisfied, everyone in the room turns back to their conversations.
You see, everyone in The Room of Good Intentions has the value of Striving to Be All God Wants Them to Be. They are sincerely determined to be godly. Their value produces actions that are best summarized by an enormous banner on the back wall that reads, “Working on My Sin to Achieve an Intimate Relationship with God. They have made it their goal to be godly, and they fully expect the same of everyone else in the room.
As I read the words on the banner, I can’t help but think, Sounds a lot like, “Be holy as your heavenly Father is holy.” Yep, I’m in the right place. The people here have sincerity, perseverance, courage, diligence, full-hearted fervency, a desire to please God, and a sold-out determination to pursue excellence. Yes, this is the place I’ve been looking for. Oh, I’m going to make Him so happy. One day soon, we’ll be close. I just know it!
Yet as weeks turn into months, I can’t help but noticing that many people in this room sound a bit cynical and look pretty tired. Many of them seem alone. And if I catch them when they think no one is looking, I see incredible pain on their faces. Quite a few seem superficial—guarded. After a while I realize that my thinking has begun shifting too. I no longer feel as comfortable or relaxed here. I have this nagging anxiety that if I don’t keep behaving well—if I don’t control my sin enough—I’ll be on the outs with everyone in the room. And with God!
So, I start investing more effort into sinning less, and I feel better…for a while. But the more time I spend in The Room of Good Intentions, the more disappointment I feel. Despite all my striving, all my efforts, I keep sinning! In fact, some days I’m fixated simply on trying not to sin. I seem to never be able to get around to doing those things that displease Him! Other days I can’t seem to do enough. I never get through my list of things to work on. It feels like I am making every effort to please a God who never seems pleased enough! I carry an overwhelming sense of guilt because I have to hide my sin—from everyone in the room and from God. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the road of Pleasing God has turned into What Must I Do to Keep God Pleased with Me?
The stifling atmosphere in the room and the tightness of my mask make it hard for me to breathe. I am so tired of pretending and keeping up appearances.
As I search for the door, someone walks up to me and, looking over his shoulder, whispers, “Hey, umm, I’m going to check out that other path back at the crossroads. For the last several years I’ve given this room everything I’ve got, and something’s just not working for me. You look tired too. You want to go retrace our steps and head out for the Trusting God trail?”
So back I go to the fork in the road. Hmmm. It still feels wrong to take the road marked Trusting God—as if I’d be getting away with something. I look around for a third road, maybe some combination of the two, but no such luck. There are just the two roads. Still. The road of Trusting God sure sounds a lot less heroic than the other. A bit ethereal and vague. And it appears to give me nothing much to do other than, well…trust. All I’ve ever heard in the Room of Good Intentions was that I have to “sell out, care more, get on fire, buck up, shape up, and tighten up.” This road doesn’t seem to give me any of that. But I think, I’m only risking a little time and effort. I can always head back to the Pleasing God path if this turns out to be a dead end. Besides the cracks in my mask are getting bigger and bigger—I don’t know how long I can keep bluffing. People have got to be catching on that something’s just not right with me. I don’t know what else I can do. If this road doesn’t take me to where I want to go, I’m cooked. I’ve got no other game plan. I need answers—real answers—and quickly. I’m running out of time…and rubber cement.
So, I begin walking on life’s path with the motive of Trusting God. This road is definitely less worn than the other one. I have second thoughts every fifty yards or so. But I cannot bring myself to return to the emptiness of the alternative, so I walk on, looking for that second door. Eventually, I spot it, and as I approach it I read the words on the sign above it: Living Out of Who God Says I Am. I tilt my head to the side, thinking that the phrase might make more sense if I do. Those are certainly some words, one right after another. What in the world do they mean? It can’t mean what I think it means! When do I get to do something here? Where’s the part where I get to prove my sincerity? Where are my guidelines? When do I get to give God my best? I shake my head and stoop down to read what it says on the doorknob…Humility.
Suddenly everything snaps into focus. I’ve tried so hard, I’ve supplied all the self-effort the other room demanded, yet received nothing but insincerity and duplicity. I’ve run out of answers, run out of breath, run out of ability, and so I cry out, God, if anything good is to come out of this whole deal, you will have to do it. I’ve tried. I can’t. I’m so tired. Please God, you will have to give me the life I am dreaming of. I can’t keep doing this anymore. I’m losing confidence that this life in you is even possible. Help me. You must make it happen or I am doomed. With those words I turn the doorknob.
As I step inside, another hostess immediately approaches. She smiles kindly and, with a voice that is at once knowing and reassuring, says softly, “Welcome to The Room of Grace.” I answer tentatively, “Thank…you.”
She presses, “How are you?” The room grows quiet.
Well, I’ve been here before and so, not to be duped twice, I answer. “I’m fine. Pretty fine…Who wants to know?” And the room stays quiet. Gun-shy from the first room, I interpret their silence as judgment, and so I yell out, “All right, listen! I’m not fine. I haven’t been fine for a long time. I’m tired. I feel guilty, lonely, and depressed. I’m sad most of the time and I can’t make my life work. And if any of you knew half my daily thoughts, you’d want me out of your little club. So there. I’m doing not fine! Thanks for asking!”
I reach for the doorknob to leave and hear a voice from far back in the crowd. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got? I’ll take your confusion, guilt, and bad thoughts, and I’ll raise you compulsive sin and chronic lower back pain! Oh, and I’m in debt up to my ears, and I wouldn’t know classical music from a show tune if it came up and bit me. You better have more than that puny list if you want to play in my league!”
The greeter smiles and nudges me to say, “I think he means you’re welcome here.” Emboldened, I smile, and call back, “Do you struggle with forgetting birthdays?” He walks right up to me all the way from the back, puts his hand on my shoulders and says, “Birthdays? I can’t remember my own!” Everyone in the room laughs the warm laughter of understanding, and I am ushered into the fold of a sweet family of kind and painfully real people. There is not a mask to be seen anywhere.
As I walk further into the room, I notice a huge banner on the back wall. This one reads: Standing with God, with My Sin in Front of Me, Working on It Together. I think, Wait, this can’t be right. How can this be? It sounds presumptuous, careless. Imagining God with His arm around me as we view my sin together? Come on! Surely they’ve written it down wrong. I’ve always been told that my sin is still a barrier between God and me. If it could be true that God actually stands with me, in front of my sin, well, that would change everything. If it were true, God has never moved away from me no matter what I’ve done! Oh my gosh, I’d have to rethink everything.
Despite my doubts, I can’t help but notice that in this room, The Room of Grace, everyone seems vitally alive. The people are obviously imperfect, full of compromise and struggle, but they’re authentic enough to talk about it and ask for help. Many have a level of integrity, maturity, love, laughter, freedom, and vitality that I don’t recall seeing in the people in the other room. I feel the start of something I haven’t felt in…well, as long as I can remember. It’s safety or something like it. Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.
------------------------------------
In review:
If my life motive is an unwavering determination to Please God,
Then my value will be Striving to Be All God Wants Me to Be,
And my action will be Working on My Sin to Achieve an Intimate Relationship with God.
When we embrace the motive of pleasing God and live in The Room of Good Intentions, we reduce godliness to this formula:
More right behavior + Less wrong behavior = Godliness
This theology comes with a significant problem: It sets us up to fail and to live in hiddenness. It disregards the godliness—righteousness—that God has already placed in us, at infinite cost, and will sabotage our journey. Once we choose the path of pleasing God, the bondage of performance persistently badgers us. Our determination to please God traps us in a formula that affixes our masks so tightly we’ll need jackhammers to get them off!
…
God paid an infinite price to buy us back, to redeem us, and to give us a new identity. So, he gets deeply disappointed when we choose not to believe what He says is true about us. He values our high-priced identity, and He wants us to do the same. How can we show that we value our identity? Please read these words slowly: By trusting what He says is true about us.
If my motive is Trusting God,
Then my value will be Living Out of Who God Says I Am,
And my action will be Standing with God, with My Sind in Front of Us, Working on It Together.
…
We discover in The Room of Grace that the almost unthinkable has happened. God has shown all of His cards. He reveals a breathtaking protection that brings us out of hiding. In essence, God says, “What if I tell them who they are? What if I take away any element of fear in condemnation, judgment, or rejection? What if I tell them I love them, will always love them? That I love them right now, no matter what they’ve done, as much as I love my only son? That there’s nothing they can do to make my love go away?
“What if I tell them there are no lists? What if I tell them I don’t keep a log of past offences, of how little they pray, how often they’ve let me down, made promises they don’t keep? What if I tell them they are righteous, with my righteousness, right now? What if I tell them they can stop beating themselves up? That they can stop being so formal, stiff, and jumpy around me? What if I tell them I’m crazy about them? What if I tell them, even if they run to the ends of the earth and do the most horrible, unthinkable things, that when they come back, I’d receive them with tears and a party?
“What if I tell them that if I am their Savior, they’re going to heaven no matter what—it’s a done deal? What if I tell them they have a new nature—saints, not saved sinners who should now ‘buck-up and be better if they were any kind of Christians, after all He’s done for you!’ What if I tell them that I actually live in them now? That I’ve put my love, power, and nature inside of them, at their disposal? What if I tell them that they don’t have to put on a mask? That it is ok to be who they are at this moment, with all their junk. That they don’t need to pretend about how close we are, how much they pray or don’t, how much Bible they read or don’t. What if they knew they don’t have to look over their shoulder for fear if things get too good, the other shoe’s gonna drop?
“What if they knew I will never, ever use the word punish in relation to them? What if they knew that when they mess up, I will never ‘get back at them’? What if they were convinced that bad circumstances aren’t my way of evening the score for taking advantage of me? What if they knew the basis for our friendship isn’t how little they sin, but how much they let me love them? What if I tell them they can hurt my heart, but I never hurt theirs? What if I tell them I like Eric Clapton’s music too? What if I tell them I never liked the Christmas handbells deal with the white gloves? What if I tell them they can open their eyes when they pray and still go to heaven? What if I tell them there is no secret agenda, no trapdoor? What if I tell them it isn’t about their self-effort, but about allowing me to live my life through them?”
When you come to the crossroads, you decide which road to choose largely upon how you see God’s “gamble.” Do I really believe this stuff will hold up—for me? This is the way of life in The Room of Grace. It is the way home to healing, joy, peace, fulfillment, contentment, and release into God’s dreams for us. It almost feels like we’re stealing silverware from the king’s house, doesn’t it? Truth is, the king paid a lot so that you wouldn’t have to try to steal any silverware. He gets to give it to you; and some other stuff so big and good and beautiful that we couldn’t even begin to stuff it into our bag of loot. Wow! It takes the eyes some adjustment to look into such light, huh?
If we refuse to enter The Room of Grace, we will constantly be striving in The Room of Good Intentions. We will strive to change into something we are not yet: godly. In The Room of Grace we grow up and mature into something that is already true about us: godly. The first room creates a works-based, performance-driven relationship with God and puts the responsibility on our resources. The second room places the responsibility on the resources of God.
God is not interested in changing you. He already has. The new DNA is set. God wants you to believe that He has already changed you so that He can get on with the process of maturing you into who you already are.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Saturday, October 2, 2010
October Newsletter
To the precious friends God has blessed me with, Hello!
As I’ll delve into in a bit, I’m entering into a season of my life where being alone will be a necessity a good percentage of the time. In the midst of that I’d prefer to not lose touch entirely with the friends not directly involved in my life, as well as share a bit of what I’m learning and growing up in my season of seclusion. To that end, I’d like to write a monthly “life-update” blog. For those of you who have been waiting for a couple of weeks for this first one, I hit a busy stretch of life lately and apologize for the delay.
So where to start? Many of you I haven’t seen or heard from since I graduated from the Honor Academy last year and headed for home. It was quite a transition. Not only was I exiting the relatively protected culture of the Honor Academy, but I also had just gotten back from a few weeks in Uganda and was coming home to a family life centered around taking care of a very sick father. As jarring as the first two might have been, I never really bore the full weight of them as Dad’s situation and my own rather critical financial situation took my almost exclusive focus. God has answered my financial needs in some rather creative ways this year, in abundance above and beyond what I had asked for. And early on some of the income paths He led me down left me with much greater flexibility to be with Dad and the family than the plans I had had would have allowed for.
Dad was battling with cancer for most of the year I spent in Texas at the Honor Academy. After my arrival home, though we didn’t know it at the time, he had only about a month left, departing us just a few days shy of his 60th birthday. I got to be there with him as he breathed his last, and had in fact just finished blessing him, thanking him, and saying goodbye to him as he did so. I remember feeling as if he had heard me and knew it was ok to let go, so he did.
In answer to the question I’ve heard many times this last year, I’m doing just fine. We all are. The transition to our new state of “family” and “normal” took about a month, and then life went on. We all miss him, to be sure, but we know where he is and know that he was at peace with dying, especially knowing he would be leaving Mom well enough off to be secure. Service was always his strongest love language, and even after death his life of service continues to bless us. One of the most amazing discoveries I’ve made this last year in the wake of his death is how many ways I am like him. I see so much of him in myself now; two years ago I wouldn’t have thought that to be true; four years ago I wouldn’t have wanted that to be true. It’s amazing how death changes your vision---almost immediately following it I could barely remember my soul’s complaints and even memories against him (and there were many, as my family life growing up left much to be desired). Only the good remained, and could even be seen much clearer. This past year I’ve seen much of that same good in me, in my passions, gifting, and temperament. Thinking upon it recently, I came to the realization that it almost felt like a mantle had been passed on to me. Indeed, that may just be what has happened, and the things he left unfinished or un-started with his life I can carry on. I think I understand the Biblical tradition of a father speaking a blessing over his sons better now, and though Dad never quite did so with his words, I feel the weight of that nonetheless.
Moving on to other matters, this last year has certainly not been the easiest for me, particularly from January on. I’ve gained a much more up-close and personal understanding of brokenness, something I had desired before in name only. The actual experience of discovering my state of brokenness was and is rather excruciating. It feels like death, though later on one finds out that it is only death to the false self, a fellow I’ve tried to be all my life but who actually does not possess any reality and God can have no relationship with him. I’ll write more about this troublesome fellow as this winter proceeds, but for now it’s important to note that the initial experience of brokenness is the unmasking of the false self. This exposes me to the true broken state of my own spiritual life and, shockingly, also places me squarely at the gateway to the Kingdom of God. Blessed are the beggingly dependent in Spirit, Jesus says, for to them belongs the Kingdom of God.
True brokenness will leave you beggingly dependent, as you discover each and every resource you’ve come to rely upon can’t hold water. I picture a deep well full of living water and my soul with a terrible ache to even just touch it. Every single ladle, bucket, or tool I brought from home to obtain the water fails me---all have holes and simply cannot hold the water to draw it to myself. In the same way my false selves simply cannot contain, cannot even touch the life God offers me. They’re all man-made and incapable of the divine. So I sit here at the well and can do nothing else but cry “GOD! HELP ME!!!” Then I sit down next to the well and wait. There is nothing else to do.
I remember first reaching this point somewhere around May of this year. I had discovered my brokenness in a new way (“Something inside of me is broken—it just doesn’t work right”) and my inability to fix it. Both facts stood out staunchly in my heart and grieved me, as much of my false self has been built around my spiritual competency, so this felt like a direct blow. Now, I’ve been broken and unable to fix that before, but the solution I came up with then was to cover up. “You have faults, Joe? It’s ok to let the minor ones show. Indeed, if you embrace them people might even see that as heroic. But if you let the big ones show then people might see the truth about you. Then you might see the truth about you. And who knows what horrors may be hidden there? Don’t go there. Cover up, put your mask back on.” I heard all that and more this time, just like every other time, only this time I didn’t do it. This time I just sat there by the well with my broken ladles and told God that if he wanted me to have His living water He was going to have to get it for me, and if He needed me I was going to be right here by the well, waiting.
This summer for about two months I did little else but work. There was nothing else I could do, so I worked and waited. I remember during this season consistently having to resist the urge to “cover up.” In conversations with friends they would ask how I was doing and I would have to confess my state of internal barrenness. The hardest thing of all was having to just leave it at that, not being able to explain or convince them of all the ways “God was using this to do this in me, or for this purpose.” I couldn’t set the record of my spiritual competency straight, as my false self desperately clamored for. I just sat there, unable to explain. And I worked every chance I could. And I waited. There was simply nothing else to do.
“Have you not known? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary; His understanding is unsearchable. He gives power to the faint, and to him who has no might He increases strength. Even youths shall faint and grow weary, and young men shall fall exhausted; but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.” (Isaiah 40:28-31)
If we’ve been in church for any length of time, we’ve heard the last verse of this scripture before, but in many ways the promises listed here of renewal are exactly what I have needed. I’ve been a soccer referee for ten years now, and it pays well and I do a good job, but I can’t remember ever doing as many games in past years as I have this year. Some weeks this summer I reffed as many as 14 games a week, and usually no less than 6. For my other job I deliver about 6 paper routes bi-weekly, and two monthly, with the majority of those being house-to-house walking routes. Now combine the two jobs and you’ve got yourself a very physically demanding lifestyle while soccer season lasts. “They shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint” has been exactly what I’ve needed from the Lord. Thank you, Father, for protecting me from injury and maintaining my energy during those grueling stretches.
As needed as those promises are for me, that is not all promised here; it’s also no accident that eagles are mentioned here. Do you know how an eagle learns to “mount up with wings”? Moses refers to the process in his song in Deuteronomy 32:11, “Like an eagle that stirs up its nest, that flutters over its young, spreading out its wings, catching them, bearing them on its pinions, the Lord alone guided [Israel].” The mother eagle decides her young are ready to fly and stirs up the nest, pushing them out of it. The young eagle then does what any other young eagle would do—plummets downward from his high perch, probably flapping his unused wings awkwardly and complaining bitterly. “How could you do this to me?? I thought you loved me!” But before the young eagle can crash land, mother sweeps in and catches it on her back, bearing it away on eagle’s wings and giving it its first taste of the wonders of flight. The Lord Himself compares this experience to His rescuing power, specifically of Israel from Egypt: “I bore you on eagle’s wings and brought you to myself.” (Exodus 19:4) But this experience of being carried on eagle’s wings is only temporary; the young eagle still must learn to fly itself. So mother eagle lifts it up high in the air and then tilts and drops it again! This cycle is repeated until the young eagle can fly on its own, and if it is ever going to experience life as God intended it to, it HAS to fly.
It’s the same with us. I am fully capable of “mounting up with wings like eagles” in the areas of life God has called me to follow Him in, but the process of learning to do so involves a lot of flapping, floundering, and falling on my part. It’s all perfectly safe, but doesn’t feel even remotely so. I’ve felt like that a lot this past year, and I’m guessing you all can relate too, if you’ve ever really tried to follow God into something you felt way over your head in.
There’s a second fact true of at least some eagles that I find equally if not more fascinating, and even more closely connected to my life right now. A few times throughout their lifetime, some eagles will fly away to an elevated hideaway. Isolated and protected by the setting, the eagle proceeds to tear out the feathers with his beak. They are good and useful feathers and have carried him for years, but out they are torn by the roots. Next its talons must go, then finally the beak is ground to a stub on the surrounding rocks. The eagle now looks pitiful, possesses nothing of value, and is capable of nothing but waiting on God to make it whole again, trusting He will faithfully do so in His time. “But they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not grow weary; they shall walk and not faint.”
Over this past year God has asked me for thing after thing in my life to give to Him. To a great extent, they’ve been good, useful things, even things I believe He gave to me Himself. “How can you ask me for that, God? That was a gift from you in the first place! Indeed, I would never have sought it out had you not directed me to it. If you take even that, Lord, will there be anything on earth I am left with?” Silence from the heavens. *sigh* “Alright Father, I don’t understand but it’s yours. Help me tear the roots out.” This has been the process time and time again this past year, and though the actions now are customary, it remains no less painful every time I begin to tug clumsily at another root.
I now am about to enter an intentionally secluded season of life. Though I welcome and would probably deeply cherish efforts by those of you taking the time to read this to call or e-mail me and say hello, I have to guard against initiating that contact myself, as there are some roots there that need to be torn out. I’ve removed distractions, freed my calendar as much as possible, and generally tried to clear space for God to move however He wants to. Yet having said that, I don’t enter this season passively. I want to learn and grow, to be renewed in His strength and to walk in His life. I seem to learn best through reading, processing, and writing, so I plan to do as much of that as I can.
I eagerly await any responses you may have for me regarding anything I’ve written here or just life in general. Thank you for being in my life. Every single one of you receiving this has made it better just by being a part of it.
your friend,
the Beloved one of God,
Joe
As I’ll delve into in a bit, I’m entering into a season of my life where being alone will be a necessity a good percentage of the time. In the midst of that I’d prefer to not lose touch entirely with the friends not directly involved in my life, as well as share a bit of what I’m learning and growing up in my season of seclusion. To that end, I’d like to write a monthly “life-update” blog. For those of you who have been waiting for a couple of weeks for this first one, I hit a busy stretch of life lately and apologize for the delay.
So where to start? Many of you I haven’t seen or heard from since I graduated from the Honor Academy last year and headed for home. It was quite a transition. Not only was I exiting the relatively protected culture of the Honor Academy, but I also had just gotten back from a few weeks in Uganda and was coming home to a family life centered around taking care of a very sick father. As jarring as the first two might have been, I never really bore the full weight of them as Dad’s situation and my own rather critical financial situation took my almost exclusive focus. God has answered my financial needs in some rather creative ways this year, in abundance above and beyond what I had asked for. And early on some of the income paths He led me down left me with much greater flexibility to be with Dad and the family than the plans I had had would have allowed for.
Dad was battling with cancer for most of the year I spent in Texas at the Honor Academy. After my arrival home, though we didn’t know it at the time, he had only about a month left, departing us just a few days shy of his 60th birthday. I got to be there with him as he breathed his last, and had in fact just finished blessing him, thanking him, and saying goodbye to him as he did so. I remember feeling as if he had heard me and knew it was ok to let go, so he did.
In answer to the question I’ve heard many times this last year, I’m doing just fine. We all are. The transition to our new state of “family” and “normal” took about a month, and then life went on. We all miss him, to be sure, but we know where he is and know that he was at peace with dying, especially knowing he would be leaving Mom well enough off to be secure. Service was always his strongest love language, and even after death his life of service continues to bless us. One of the most amazing discoveries I’ve made this last year in the wake of his death is how many ways I am like him. I see so much of him in myself now; two years ago I wouldn’t have thought that to be true; four years ago I wouldn’t have wanted that to be true. It’s amazing how death changes your vision---almost immediately following it I could barely remember my soul’s complaints and even memories against him (and there were many, as my family life growing up left much to be desired). Only the good remained, and could even be seen much clearer. This past year I’ve seen much of that same good in me, in my passions, gifting, and temperament. Thinking upon it recently, I came to the realization that it almost felt like a mantle had been passed on to me. Indeed, that may just be what has happened, and the things he left unfinished or un-started with his life I can carry on. I think I understand the Biblical tradition of a father speaking a blessing over his sons better now, and though Dad never quite did so with his words, I feel the weight of that nonetheless.
Moving on to other matters, this last year has certainly not been the easiest for me, particularly from January on. I’ve gained a much more up-close and personal understanding of brokenness, something I had desired before in name only. The actual experience of discovering my state of brokenness was and is rather excruciating. It feels like death, though later on one finds out that it is only death to the false self, a fellow I’ve tried to be all my life but who actually does not possess any reality and God can have no relationship with him. I’ll write more about this troublesome fellow as this winter proceeds, but for now it’s important to note that the initial experience of brokenness is the unmasking of the false self. This exposes me to the true broken state of my own spiritual life and, shockingly, also places me squarely at the gateway to the Kingdom of God. Blessed are the beggingly dependent in Spirit, Jesus says, for to them belongs the Kingdom of God.
True brokenness will leave you beggingly dependent, as you discover each and every resource you’ve come to rely upon can’t hold water. I picture a deep well full of living water and my soul with a terrible ache to even just touch it. Every single ladle, bucket, or tool I brought from home to obtain the water fails me---all have holes and simply cannot hold the water to draw it to myself. In the same way my false selves simply cannot contain, cannot even touch the life God offers me. They’re all man-made and incapable of the divine. So I sit here at the well and can do nothing else but cry “GOD! HELP ME!!!” Then I sit down next to the well and wait. There is nothing else to do.
I remember first reaching this point somewhere around May of this year. I had discovered my brokenness in a new way (“Something inside of me is broken—it just doesn’t work right”) and my inability to fix it. Both facts stood out staunchly in my heart and grieved me, as much of my false self has been built around my spiritual competency, so this felt like a direct blow. Now, I’ve been broken and unable to fix that before, but the solution I came up with then was to cover up. “You have faults, Joe? It’s ok to let the minor ones show. Indeed, if you embrace them people might even see that as heroic. But if you let the big ones show then people might see the truth about you. Then you might see the truth about you. And who knows what horrors may be hidden there? Don’t go there. Cover up, put your mask back on.” I heard all that and more this time, just like every other time, only this time I didn’t do it. This time I just sat there by the well with my broken ladles and told God that if he wanted me to have His living water He was going to have to get it for me, and if He needed me I was going to be right here by the well, waiting.
This summer for about two months I did little else but work. There was nothing else I could do, so I worked and waited. I remember during this season consistently having to resist the urge to “cover up.” In conversations with friends they would ask how I was doing and I would have to confess my state of internal barrenness. The hardest thing of all was having to just leave it at that, not being able to explain or convince them of all the ways “God was using this to do this in me, or for this purpose.” I couldn’t set the record of my spiritual competency straight, as my false self desperately clamored for. I just sat there, unable to explain. And I worked every chance I could. And I waited. There was simply nothing else to do.
“Have you not known? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary; His understanding is unsearchable. He gives power to the faint, and to him who has no might He increases strength. Even youths shall faint and grow weary, and young men shall fall exhausted; but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.” (Isaiah 40:28-31)
If we’ve been in church for any length of time, we’ve heard the last verse of this scripture before, but in many ways the promises listed here of renewal are exactly what I have needed. I’ve been a soccer referee for ten years now, and it pays well and I do a good job, but I can’t remember ever doing as many games in past years as I have this year. Some weeks this summer I reffed as many as 14 games a week, and usually no less than 6. For my other job I deliver about 6 paper routes bi-weekly, and two monthly, with the majority of those being house-to-house walking routes. Now combine the two jobs and you’ve got yourself a very physically demanding lifestyle while soccer season lasts. “They shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint” has been exactly what I’ve needed from the Lord. Thank you, Father, for protecting me from injury and maintaining my energy during those grueling stretches.
As needed as those promises are for me, that is not all promised here; it’s also no accident that eagles are mentioned here. Do you know how an eagle learns to “mount up with wings”? Moses refers to the process in his song in Deuteronomy 32:11, “Like an eagle that stirs up its nest, that flutters over its young, spreading out its wings, catching them, bearing them on its pinions, the Lord alone guided [Israel].” The mother eagle decides her young are ready to fly and stirs up the nest, pushing them out of it. The young eagle then does what any other young eagle would do—plummets downward from his high perch, probably flapping his unused wings awkwardly and complaining bitterly. “How could you do this to me?? I thought you loved me!” But before the young eagle can crash land, mother sweeps in and catches it on her back, bearing it away on eagle’s wings and giving it its first taste of the wonders of flight. The Lord Himself compares this experience to His rescuing power, specifically of Israel from Egypt: “I bore you on eagle’s wings and brought you to myself.” (Exodus 19:4) But this experience of being carried on eagle’s wings is only temporary; the young eagle still must learn to fly itself. So mother eagle lifts it up high in the air and then tilts and drops it again! This cycle is repeated until the young eagle can fly on its own, and if it is ever going to experience life as God intended it to, it HAS to fly.
It’s the same with us. I am fully capable of “mounting up with wings like eagles” in the areas of life God has called me to follow Him in, but the process of learning to do so involves a lot of flapping, floundering, and falling on my part. It’s all perfectly safe, but doesn’t feel even remotely so. I’ve felt like that a lot this past year, and I’m guessing you all can relate too, if you’ve ever really tried to follow God into something you felt way over your head in.
There’s a second fact true of at least some eagles that I find equally if not more fascinating, and even more closely connected to my life right now. A few times throughout their lifetime, some eagles will fly away to an elevated hideaway. Isolated and protected by the setting, the eagle proceeds to tear out the feathers with his beak. They are good and useful feathers and have carried him for years, but out they are torn by the roots. Next its talons must go, then finally the beak is ground to a stub on the surrounding rocks. The eagle now looks pitiful, possesses nothing of value, and is capable of nothing but waiting on God to make it whole again, trusting He will faithfully do so in His time. “But they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not grow weary; they shall walk and not faint.”
Over this past year God has asked me for thing after thing in my life to give to Him. To a great extent, they’ve been good, useful things, even things I believe He gave to me Himself. “How can you ask me for that, God? That was a gift from you in the first place! Indeed, I would never have sought it out had you not directed me to it. If you take even that, Lord, will there be anything on earth I am left with?” Silence from the heavens. *sigh* “Alright Father, I don’t understand but it’s yours. Help me tear the roots out.” This has been the process time and time again this past year, and though the actions now are customary, it remains no less painful every time I begin to tug clumsily at another root.
I now am about to enter an intentionally secluded season of life. Though I welcome and would probably deeply cherish efforts by those of you taking the time to read this to call or e-mail me and say hello, I have to guard against initiating that contact myself, as there are some roots there that need to be torn out. I’ve removed distractions, freed my calendar as much as possible, and generally tried to clear space for God to move however He wants to. Yet having said that, I don’t enter this season passively. I want to learn and grow, to be renewed in His strength and to walk in His life. I seem to learn best through reading, processing, and writing, so I plan to do as much of that as I can.
I eagerly await any responses you may have for me regarding anything I’ve written here or just life in general. Thank you for being in my life. Every single one of you receiving this has made it better just by being a part of it.
your friend,
the Beloved one of God,
Joe
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