Sand and Feathers

Do you ever feel like every good deed you’ve done, everything encouraging word you’ve spoken, every productive idea you’ve ever had amounts to nothing, as if the years you have spent striving, praying, trusting, yielding, and encouraging are no more than a pile of sand and feathers, easily blown away by a single mistake? 

One impatient moment and you are suddenly the mother who doesn’t listen rather than the faithful sounding board you wanted to be and thought you had been for eighteen years.  One weak moment and you are the teacher who raised her voice and made everyone feel uncomfortable minutes before the start of Christmas break rather than the one who allows her students to start each day with a clean slate without showing favoritism.  One vulnerable confession and you are the one who is too sensitive rather than the one who has kept silent many times out of respect.  One honest observation and you are the critical wife instead of the one who regularly prays for the Holy Spirit’s intervention by other means so that her words won’t be the ones to wound.  

Obviously, I’ve been there (like in the last five minutes), and I’ve asked myself why I even bother countless times.  Sometimes, I fantasize about picking my sister up and taking an open-ended vacation.  Where we would go, I’m not sure.  I do know that we would talk and eat and drive and not worry, for once, about anyone’s needs but our own, and that is where the daydream comes to an abrupt end.  I know I’ll never pick up and go like that, no matter how tempting it might be at times. 

The truth is that I consider it a privilege to be Todd’s wife, Hunter and Hope’s mom, Bob and Karen’s daughter, and a middle school English teacher to the specific students on my roster.  I feel called to each of these roles and, for the most part, get a lot of pleasure out of fulfilling my responsibilities within them.   I also believe, deep down in my heart, that my obedience counts for something, that it is significant.  It doesn’t earn my salvation--God already took care of that--and it doesn’t earn me any kind of spiritual promotion in the Kingdom.  It does, however, make me Jesus' friend, according to Scripture, and He is the best kind of friend to have. 

Patient and kind, God is way more forgiving of my mistakes than I am.  In fact, along with all of the positive in my life, He weaves my mistakes into His master plan.  How does that work?  I’m not exactly sure.  It’s one of the things I can’t wait to find out when I get to Heaven, but I have given it a lot of thought.  This is what I’ve come up with so far. 

If you are like me, then you tend to praise yourself when you do well and keep a mental tally of the selfless acts you’ve performed (see above if you don’t know what I mean) even if you hate the fact that you do it.  Over the years, I know I’ve built some pretty impressive monuments to myself, complete with shiny, engraved base plates that read “Angela Sanders.”  King Nebuchadnezzar has nothing on me!

Knowing that, I think maybe God allows and uses our mistakes to remind us that we are fragile and flawed and that His name, not ours, belongs on any sand and feathers that we manage to amass. When we write His name on the good in our lives, we are forced to look at what is left and see ourselves for what we are, imperfect people, capable of and predisposed to wounding others just as they have wounded us.  It takes the wind out of our sails, freeing us to love and forgive as we should, for our good and His glory, an eternal glory that will not blow away.         

Not Excited About Christmas

I’m not excited about Christmas.  There.  I said it. 

The troubling thing is that I seem to be the only one.  So far, I’ve watched three people tear up with joy and awe at the reading of the Christmas story, heard a student squeal at the mention of Christmas morning, and listened to countless songs sung by adults who, apparently, have never lost the feeling of giddy anticipation we all felt as children.  Everyone seems to be experiencing with startling intensity the same “Christmas feeling” this year.  

Me?  Not one tear.  Not one shiver.  Not one warm fuzzy to speak of.  What do I feel?  It’s hard to describe.  My family refers to it as “letting down.” You know, like a person might do after finishing a big project or finding out that their test results were negative or closing on a house?  Shaky limbs.  Fatigue.  The fading heat of effort in my cheeks?  Only I feel that in my heart.  

What am I “letting down” from?  Well, once again, like the Galatians, I’ve been trying to earn the salvation I already possess—free and clear, mind you—because of what Jesus Christ did for me on the cross.  I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I’ve been working hard to impress my Creator.  Now, if that isn't neurotic narcissism, I don’t know what is.  

If Dr. Phil were here, he would ask, “So, how’s that workin’ for ya’?”  

I would have to say, “Not very well!”

The harder I try to be perfect, the more unimpressive I find myself.  Not only am I not perfect; I’m not even good.  Like the apostle Paul, I keep on messing up.  So frustrating!

Okay, now lean in a second.  I’m going to let you in on a weird little secret of mine.  In my heart of hearts, I wish that I could be good for one whole day on my own, make no mistakes without God’s help, and wrap that day up in a bow.  Then I would feel like I really had something to offer God, a Christmas present of sorts from me to Him.  I could scratch my name on the bottom, and He could put it high on a shelf, look at it every once in a while, and think, “That’s from Angela.  How beautiful!  My, but she must love me.”  

But, it just doesn’t work that way. 

According to Scripture, the best I can do on my own is as filthy rags.  That’s why the Father sent His son Jesus to live a perfect life, die on the cross as a sacrifice for my sin, and conquer the grave.  He knew I couldn’t get to Heaven on my own or facilitate my own spiritual adoption, so He made a way for me to be rescued, to be saved.  As if that weren’t enough, He gave me the faith to believe, forgave me when I confessed my need for Him, and made me a permanent member of His family.  He took care of everything!

So, what am I experiencing this holiday season? I think it’s relief, a perfectly appropriate Christmas feeling now that I think about it, tears, shivers, and warm fuzzies or not.  I pray the same for you.