"If there were a choice - and he suspected there was - a choice between, on the one hand, the heights and the depths and, on the other hand, some sort of safe, cautious middle way, he, for one, here and now chose the heights and the depths."
-A Severe Mercy by Sheldon Vanauken
Not long ago, my brother and I and some of our friends were walking on a bike trail. The trail runs along a creek, and some of the trees grow so that their branches hang over the water below. This particular time, the water level was not too high. We came upon a tree with a good sized branch arching over, and the temptation was too great. I climbed up on it and inched further and further out on the limb. My brother anxiously cautioned me all the way, and the further I went, the more worried he became that I would fall. Naturally, being older, I did not intend to listen to him, but his doubts shook my own confidence. Looking at the tree branch, if I went further I would have the victorious satisfaction of having climbed nearly over the entire creek. Of course, there was also the possibility that my brother's fears would be realized, and I would fall to an embarrassing and painful injury. There was risk, and I had to weigh the possible gain with the possible consequences.
Risk. My mother, famous for her proverbs, always told us, "If you doubt, don't." That seems simple enough. What she failed to explain to us, however, is that so much of life is uncertain. Doubt does not only occur when I encounter a crossroads. Sometimes it is not a one-or-the-other decision, but a vague sense of doubt which I cannot exactly define.
Living life trying to do the right thing sometimes ends up feeling like a track runner going around and around in a circle without any breaks. After awhile, the runner realizes that he has broken his own record countless times. What purpose is there to keep going? The track doesn't seem to lead anywhere per se. This is a life without risk.
And it is like writing a book. I don't know if you have ever tried to sit down and put together a masterpiece, but the more into a plot you go (or at least it is this way for me), the more complicated it becomes. There are infinite possibilities, but you feel there is only one way for you to make this perfect. One way in which it all goes together. This is a life with too much risk to choose from.
These two things, a sense of monotony and of finding the one right way to behave, drive me to fear risk. Risk is the variable you never calculate. Risk is the possibility that you could fail or you could win the lottery. Most of the time, I avoid risk. It seems an unnecessary gamble to trifle with. But surprisingly, I have found that avoiding risk does not reduce doubt. In fact, many instances show the opposite to be true, that doubt increases as risk decreases.
Black and white may exist in pictures or in old movies or on checkerboards, but rarely is it evident in making decisions. Or maybe it is, but we are too distracted by the colors of our world to realize it. I am always so concerned with making the right decision, that when a decision is made, I often have a lingering sense of doubt. Did I make the right decision? Should I have chosen black this time, or was white the better choice? I fail to realize that a lot of the time, good comes with bad. I will not always make the right decision, but that does not mean that I should be wary of every choice I do make. The world will keep on turning if I blow it, and walking on eggshells and avoiding risks will not guarantee a "safe" life. What it will guarantee is a lot of emotional taxation and monotonous living. Yes, a decision can have disastrous results because a risk, prudent or imprudent, was taken, but the ultimate outcome, however, is out of our control.
Genesis tells the well-known story of Joseph's brothers selling him to merchants (an obvious lapse in judgement on their part) and of his eventual and amazing rise to power in a strange land that he had entered as a piece of property. Years after Joseph reveals his true identity to his brothers, they are still haunted by the decision they had made against him. After their father's death, the brothers feared Joseph's wrath which they felt they justly deserved. I am always staggered Joseph's humble and blunt response to them: "Don't be afraid. Am I in the place of God? You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives." How incredible for Joseph to be drawn to a place where he could offer up such a horrible decision and look upon it with thankfulness and gladness.
Joseph did not fear making a wrong decision because he was confident that the Lord would use it all for His purpose. In Dante's Inferno, he rightly says, "A man must stand in fear of just those things that truly have the power to do us harm, of nothing else, for nothing else is fearsome." Nothing else is fearsome but the things that have the power to do us harm. How true and yet how often we forget? I forget that there is only a force of darkness unable to be overcome that must be feared, and that darkness does not exist because it has already been defeated. Isaiah 43:1 says "But now, this is what the Lord says - he who created you, Jacob, he who formed you, Israel; 'Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine.'"
If there is risk, if it is thought through carefully and not taken by whimsical or carnal desires, then I believe it is right to be taken. For nothing in life is certain but the love of God, and nothing need be feared when that law is at work for all eternity.
Showing posts with label faith. Show all posts
Showing posts with label faith. Show all posts
Monday, August 25, 2014
Sunday, October 13, 2013
The Waiting Game
Do you ever feel like you’re stuck
in a rut? Like if only things were a certain way, everything would be better? There
is something so depressing about being just out of reach of something.
In our
minds, we can imagine how things would be in our idealistic reality – even if
we don’t expect perfection for our lives, even if we account for some
uncomfortable or even difficult things, it’s still enough to drive us crazy
when we can’t have what we want.
Today I was sulking about something
and whining to myself that I am such a martyr for enduring this torture of not
getting what I want. After all, I am a pretty
good person.
That’s when I started laughing at myself.
A particular story from the Bible
jumped into my head – one with Abraham and his son, Isaac. Abraham had direct instructions
from the Lord that were clear-cut and without much of an explanation. “Take
your son, your only son, Isaac, whom you love, and go to the region of Moriah.
Sacrifice him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains I will tell you
about.” Can you imagine anything more horrifying than sacrificing your beloved
child?? I can’t begin to comprehend the pain and conflict that Abraham must
have gone through. He loved Isaac more than his own life. Isaac was the
promised son that he had waited decades to hold in his arms, and now God required
his life as an offering.
Do you think Abraham wanted to kill
his son? Of course he didn’t! But he trusted that God knew what He was doing
when He asked such a momentous task. Although Abraham probably felt a sick
twist in his gut as he climbed that mountain, he kept on going, not even
letting on to Isaac as to the true purpose of their journey.
Aaaaand then there’s me. My
problems seem so trivial in comparison, yet I do not have the faith to trust that
the Lord has planned my life out for my own good! Perhaps things are not going
the way I would like for them to, but I don’t have the big picture in front of
me.
Rather than accept this period as a
time for waiting, my impulsive, do-it-yourself nature wants to jump in
there and “get ‘er done”. In fact, that’s exactly how Abraham acted before
Isaac was born! Although the Lord had said he would have a son, he went and
married a handmaiden in addition to the childless wife he already had. The
result was two half brothers who would be at odds for generations to come.
I think he learned a valuable
lesson from that experience that I can take from as well.
Right now, I may not see what’s
around the corner for me. That may get under my skin. It may make me want to
scream to the heavens, but that is the way it should be. Us trusting that He
will take care of us always. God doesn’t let us have the things we want simply
because we act a certain way or because we do things in such a way that we
consider ourselves “good people”. In actuality, there is no such person.
There is a time for everything. A
time to trust, a time to hope, and a time to wait.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Faith, Trust, and Holding Things Up
What are the things we believe in?
Not the spiritual entities or the religious rules exactly, but the simple,
everyday objects and concepts upon which we thoroughly rely. Perhaps sometimes
we don’t do it consciously, but we put our lives into these inanimate objects
without so much as a questioning glance. Things like cars, roofs, mankind’s
ability to stop at red lights, the purity of our drinking water, or simply the
chairs we sit in. We have complete and utter faith in the things we can see,
touch, feel with our hands. Why then is it so difficult to put this very basic
trust into the hands of the One who gave us our very breath?
I think we are obsessed with the
things we see. So much so, that whenever something is not in front of our eyes,
we have a hard time believing that it is actually there. If you have ever heard
the phrase, “I’d have to see it to believe it,” or, “Seeing is believing,” it
is evident that the majority of society thinks along these lines. After all,
you are the best judge…right?
See, when we get to a place where
we have set ourselves up on so high a pedestal that we consider ourselves the
ultimate authority (which is laughable compared to reality), we have to move
God from that position first. Like the subconscious act of placing faith in a
folding chair, we nudge God over and try to hold up the roofs in our lives on
our own. The problem is, when God sees our pathetic struggle for control and
decides to let us have a taste of our own medicine, things immediately begin to
shake. When God stops being the support beams, the whole structure comes
crashing down, and we are left in the midst of the broken rubble that was the
life we had tried to create ourselves.
That and the realization that our
strength alone is not strong enough.
We’ve all been there. Like a disobedient
child who has just brought the whole tray down on top of her head, we sit in a
heap on the floor, crying because of our brokenness and because the
consequences hurt.
But this is the best part.
This is when Daddy comes into the
room. At first we feel a little scared because…well, it’s Daddy! He’s the boss,
the judge, the maker-or-breaker of our days. He has the authority to inflict punishment
and the ability to extend forgiveness.
He looks around at what we have
done, seeing the mess, seeing our tears, but choosing not to pay them any heed
because He only truly sees one thing. Our hearts and everything Jesus came to
save, everything He created to be perfect and beautiful. Everything He loves
about us.
That’s when Daddy picks us up,
dusts us off, and after giving us a big hug, reminds us to listen to His words.
“Now then, my children,” He says, “listen to Me; blessed are those who keep My
ways. Listen to My instruction and be wise; do not ignore it. I know that you
aren’t perfect, though you always try to be, and that you will fail every time
you attempt to go off alone. But I do not look at these things, the things that
man looks at. Instead, I look at your heart, which is Mine and which I dearly
love. I paid the highest price imaginable for it, so I want you to take care of
it. Trust me. I know what My plans are for you, and they are all for your own
good.”
Drop whatever you’re doing right
now. Just do it.
Close your eyes, take a deep
breath, and give it all to Jesus. Forget all the clichés, ignore what others
would say or think, just stop trying to hold everything together because you
can’t do it. You were not meant to carry things all on your own. Talk to Him,
and give Him the reins. Then you will truly discover (or rediscover) the joy
that is life. J
Monday, December 10, 2012
a Gift, a Promise, a Notion
"Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand."
Romans 5:1-2
a gift
a promise
a notion
What we did deserved severe punishment of the highest degree -- eternal torture and ceaseless agony. That was the prescribed retribution, after all. The rules were laid out plain and simple, just like they were for Adam and Eve. Don't do this. What did we do? We did that.

Our parents told us not to lie. We pointed fingers when someone broke Mom's favorite picture frame. They told us not to steal. We found it acceptable to slip a piece of candy from our siblings' stockings at Christmastime when no one was looking.
These may seem like minor misdemeanors, but in truth they are mere indicators of a larger problem at work: our lives bare the tell-tale footprints of sin.
We have to be honest, our lives are messed up. Even if we get everything to look perfect on the outside, there has to be something ugly happening on the inside. Truth is, we will never get it all right, and that is the greatest curse of our existence.
BUT, (and it is a very large "but" because this verse was not intended to induce depression), we were spared the punishment. By no small miracle, it was made as though there never was any sin in the first place. Someone absolutely perfect in every way, by very nature incapable of deviating from God's plan one iota, took the battle I should have fought. He was bruised; He was shamed. BUT, He was not beaten.

Through blood and tears, He arose victorious. The sin forgotten and constantly excused. What deserves grace such as this? We spit in the face of the one who gave us everything, and instead of letting the hammer of justice fall where it may, He extended a pardon of mercy. Crazy, unexplainable love fueled the perpetual forgiveness of a misdeed that should have deserved hell.
Now, I have just one question for you: How could we possibly not grant one another that same mercy?
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