Todd gets home from Spain today and just in time. The soft T-shirt he sleeps in—the one he left
behind at my request—has lost its scent, and I am desperate for the sweetness
of morning snuggles.
The world is scary.
People are mean. Bad things
happen.
However, none of that matters much when I’m buried in Todd’s warmth,
breathing him in and listening to his heartbeat. For twenty-five years, my husband’s presence
has worked a chamomile effect on my anxious heart, helping me accept the things
that aren’t and rejoice in the blessings that are.
But he’s not here. His
shirt is—a very poor substitute for the real thing—and I’m feeling grumpy and
sad.
I know I’m not the only one.
Everywhere I look, it seems that people are ticked off about one thing
or another, each other, mostly, and Christians, in particular. At least that’s the case on my social media feeds.
I guess it’s no wonder.
Christians aren’t perfect. We do make
a lot of mistakes, and we often let people down.
We know that we fall short.
That’s why, with the Spirit’s help, we lay our hearts in God’s hands on
a daily basis to be transformed into something new. We want to get over our “humanness.” We want
to stop irritating and disappointing other people (and ourselves) and become a
more accurate reflection of our Savior as much as other people want us to.
The problem is this.
This whole transformation process we are in? This noisy and painfully public rebuild? It isn’t scheduled for completion this side of
Heaven. Only when we join the Father there
will He finish the work He began in us at the point of our salvation. Only then will we be perfect.
If you are longing for the real thing, I’m afraid you’ll just
have to befriend Him yourself. My
brothers and sisters and I, by our own admission, are very poor substitutes.
“Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and
opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me.” Revelation 3:20
Over spring break, my family and I loaded up the car and headed
east. As we drove, a funny thing
happened. We ended up farther and
farther away from home. Siri told us
so, but we would have figured it out anyway.
Half-way through our trip, hills and then mountains began to
appear. Trees got taller and more dense,
forming an archway over our path from time to time. Finally, prairie grass and red dirt behind
us, we knew for sure that we had reached our destination when we hit sandy
Virginia Beach.
For seven days, we lived a new reality and were able to put
aside the cares and concerns that had weighed so heavily on us back home. As often happens when I’m on vacation, God cupped
my face in his hands and held me calmly until he had my full attention. We talked about a lot of things that I’d forgotten
to tell Him—things He already knew—and He helped me finalize some weighty decisions
with peace and confidence.
Once I calmed, He let go and held my gaze. For the rest of the week, He talked, and I
listened. I was reminded how good it
feels to be the daughter of a Father like Him and how free it feels to rest in
the fact that He loves me. It’s such a
relief to know that tomorrow is not mine to conquer and all I have to do is
trust and obey.
Now that I’m back home, though, I’m struggling to maintain
the calm and connection I felt on vacation.
Why? Well, it’s not because the
Father left me. That’s for sure. I find that when I force myself to stop worrying,
fussing, mulling, and choosing, He’s right there waiting for me to notice Him,
ready to remind me of His love and sovereignty.
I’m struggling because, somewhere along the way back home,
as the mountains melted into prairie and the trees slipped back into the earth,
I picked up the worries and habits I’d left behind like a stack of waiting
bills and junk mail and allowed them to overcome me.
That’s what happens when you live in the middle, you see, when
you turn your eyes on what is seen rather than what is unseen, when you focus
on vain do’s and don’ts and anxious what if’s instead of claiming and living in
the victory God has already provided through the blood of Jesus Christ.
The Enemy lives in the middle, and He baits and distracts those
who choose to camp along the fence-line between light and darkness, poking,
prodding, and wounding those who concentrate on avoiding evil and staying “clean
enough” rather than pursuing the Lord with abandon.
Why do you suppose the Father has called us to holiness? For His sake?
To a certain degree, I suppose.
It does bring Him glory, and He is the King of Kings. But it’s also for our good, something else for
which the Bible says He works all things together.
When you pursue holiness, leaving the temporal, permissible,
and disputable behind you, a funny thing happens. The darkness falls away. Care by care, worry by worry, fear by fear,
it fades until all that is left is beauty, calm, and peace. That’s what the Father wants for us. That’s what salvation from sin and self through
Jesus offers.
So, where are you today? Are you longing to feel God’s touch and hear
the lullaby of His powerful voice once again? Pull up camp and pursue holiness. The Father will help us get there.
