Tag Archives: God’s Plan

Always Content, Never Satisfied

January 24, 2010
Strive
Image by bowtoo via Flickr

I know far less after 18-plus years of teaching than I thought I did right out of grad school.

The same is true in my walk with Christ. I felt a whole lot smarter and wiser as a newborn Christian than I am today. Though I know that I must learn to be content with my provision, my gifts, and my circumstance, I can’t get complacent and be satisfied with where I am.

I hope I never get to the point where I think…

  • I understand God or His Word
  • I have accomplished God’s purpose for my life
  • I have achieved all I can achieve for God
  • I know Christ as well as He can be known
  • the torch has passed to a younger generation
  • there’s no one left for me to reach
  • God has nothing left to teach me
  • I’ve dug as deeply as there is to dig
  • I have nothing left to confess
  • I no longer need to bear fruit…or my cross
  • I’m already where God wants me to remain

If I’m on the path, there’s still path left to travel. If I’m no longer moving, I’m no longer on the path.

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Shadow of a Cloud

April 17, 2009
cloud shadows
Image by zen via Flickr

Halloween 1983. I stood in front of the mirror, checking out my costume. It looked pretty good, if I did say so myself. I’d spent several days building myself a stylized suit of armor from black poster board and red duct tape. I had a shield and sword, helm and breastplate, gauntlets, greaves, and sabatons. I wore red long-johns to simulate the chain mail beneath the plates. I had researched real armor in order to get the details just right, and I thought I’d nailed it pretty well. I was pretty impressed with myself.

When I got to the party, many of my high school friends were already there, and a few of them commented on how cool the costume was. I was feeling pretty good about myself and my accomplishment.

Until about ten minutes later. A friend of mine walked in with her new boyfriend, a guy from another high school whom we hadn’t yet met. He was also wearing a suit of armor. A real one. That he’d built himself.

Talk about total humiliation. For the rest of the evening I endured the awkward conversation as people studiously avoided any mention of the costumes, or they weakly attempted to find things to say that would build me back up. While I appreciated the thought, their words mostly just reinforced the fact that I was indeed the lamest loser at the party.

Throughout my life and career I have had similar experiences. Just when I thought I was becoming accomplished at something, when I was feeling good about where things were going, or how well I was doing, something would happen to remind me that I had many, many, many miles to go. What I thought was the end of the journey really turned out just to be the end of the on-ramp. What I thought was real substance turns out to be only the shadow of a cloud.

So it is in my relationship with God. I must not ever begin to believe that I have gotten anywhere near the holiness that God desires and requires of me. If I think I’m close to good enough, he’ll have a way of holding my miniscule accomplishments up to the searing light of his goodness, and I’m put in my place.

The difference, though–and it’s a glorious, awesome difference–is that God doesn’t humiliate, he humbles. And then he reminds me that while my goodness and holiness don’t begin to approach the standard that he has set, he still loves me, and he has given me grace to cover that gap.

On earth I may only be the shadow of a cloud, and I may never amount to much by the world’s standards. But in God’s eyes, I am his child, and anything I do for him is a true accomplishment. If I am seeking his will and following his plan, then I can do truly great things, because it isn’t about me, it is about Christ working through me.

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A Tiny Cloud in a Vast Sky

March 29, 2009
Tiny cloud
Image by Håkan Dahlström via Flickr

I’ve been wrestling lately with what is very likely a common (if not universal) and basic issue: I want to make a difference in the world. Most people would consider this a healthy, even honorable, ambition. On the surface it’s selfless and giving and good.

What I wrestle with, though, is that I want to make a difference in the world. The reality is that it’s not as selfless as it seems. I want to see the results: to know that I am making an impact, that I can make the world—or at least part of it—a better place. I want to be recognized for my efforts and the good that I’m doing. I want to know that other people see how much I care. I’ve said as long as I’ve been a teacher that if I can make a difference in only one person’s life, it was worth it, but if I’m honest with myself, I wish I could make a much bigger difference than that.

But what if I don’t make any difference at all? Then what? Lately I feel as though I’m a miniscule cloud in a vast sky. Even if I could make some rain, and even if it didn’t evaporate on the way down, what good would those few drops make?

I am learning that my significance doesn’t come from how big a splash I make or how many people see that splash. It comes from the fact that I am a child of God, loved by the Creator of the Universe who has chosen to live inside me and allow me to be a part of his body. That fact alone humbles me; it should be enough.

And it is. Yet it’s not.

When I look at it from the other side, I see several things. God has given me gifts and talents, as he has everyone. And those gifts have several purposes: to edify and help others, and to glorify God. God does want us to use the gifts we have for the benefit of other people—he wants us to make a difference. Over and over again in Scripture we are commanded to take care of one another in so many ways. In the parable of the talents, it is clear that we are not to hide what has been given to us, but rather to use it, to nurture it, to grow it.

God has also given me a calling: I am a teacher. And one way that manifests is that I want to see other people learn and grow. It is natural, isn’t it, that a teacher wants to see the results of his teaching? It would seem to me that God wouldn’t give me this gift and calling, expect me to use it, and never know if it was accomplishing anything. (But then who am I to second-guess God’s purposes?)

I suppose I find at least part of the answer in 1 Corinthians 12. Paul is, of course, talking about the gifts and about how each one of us gets a portion. He also talks about how different portions are given to each of us, and that all the gifts are only a part of the whole:

I want you to think about how all this makes you more significant, not less. A body isn’t just a single part blown up into something huge. It’s all the different-but-similar parts arranged and functioning together. (1 Cor 12:14, MSG)

But there is a danger, too:

But I also want you to think about how this keeps your significance from getting blown up into self-importance. For no matter how significant you are, it is only because of what you are a part of. An enormous eye or a gigantic hand wouldn’t be a body, but a monster. (1 Cor 12:19, MSG)

So my struggle is really rooted in the world’s belief that significance and self-importance are one and the same. I’ve bought into that belief. The only cure is stepping back and reminding myself that I am making a difference—as long as I’m following God, faithfully working out his plan for my life, and doing everything I can to bring glory and honor to his name, not mine.

My significance comes from my relationship with him, not from my effect on the world. Is it possible that he will use me in enormous ways to touch large numbers of people? Of course it is. But that can’t be my goal. My only goal can be to do everything I can with what God has given me, to give him the credit for my successes, and take responsibility for my failures.

The results I must leave in his hands. I may be a tiny cloud, and my rain may not reach the ground. But God can change the winds, bring together enough clouds, and put us in exactly the spot where the rain will do the most good. We may not become a notable storm, or even warrant a mention on the local weather, but if it accomplishes something in God’s plan, then it is significant. And so am I.

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Under the Tissue Paper, Another Gift

December 26, 2008

As often happens during family holiday gatherings, we started reminiscing yesterday about Christmases past. One story that made us all smile was about my wife’s grandmother. One year, when we asked her what she wanted for Christmas, she simply said, “Just give me all your love. I don’t need anything else.” So each one of us gave her a box that had a piece of paper that simply said LOVE. When she opened the first one, she saw the paper and asked what it meant.

“It’s your gift, Grandmom. You said you just wanted our love. So that’s what we gave you.” She smiled and was obviously very touched. Then she looked under the tissue paper and said, “No, really, where’s my gift?”

As I was watching my children and my nephews opening their gifts yesterday, I realized that are layers to my own understanding of Christmas, and it’s reflected in the progression of my attitude towards gift-giving. Each time I looked under the tissue paper, I found another meaning to Christmas.

When I was a child, it was all about the getting. All that mattered to me was whether I got cool stuff and how much I was accumulating. I’d rip open one package, and had hardly even seen what was inside before I moved on to the next box. I was so engrossed in my own pile of loot that I hardly even noticed what everyone else was opening. And sometimes, I’d look under the tissue paper and wonder, “No, really, where’s my gift?”

As I got older, though, things shifted. As much as I still enjoyed (and enjoy) receiving gifts, it was more about the giving than the receiving. I got so much joy from seeing the pleasure that other people received when I had given a particularly appropriate gift.

Yesterday, I lifted yet another layer of tissue paper and discovered that it’s about the receiving again. But what matters to me now isn’t the gift, it’s my response to it. I have had many different responses to gifts over the years, some verbalized, some kept to myself:

“OK! What’s in the next one?”
“Is that all?”
“It’s just what I wanted!”
“It’s not exactly what I wanted…”
“Maybe I can exchange it.”
“Well, it’s the thought that counts.”

And for most of my life, my response has revolved around what I wanted or thought I needed.

But a gift is more about the giver than the receiver. The giver chose the gift believing it was a good match for me. The greatest expression of love I can give back is to accept it, open it, and use it. It may not be exactly what I thought I wanted, but if I allow myself to appreciate it—and I mean honestly appreciate it, not just obligatory lip service—the value of the gift is fully realized.

This thought process naturally brought me around to the original Christmas gift: God’s grace and forgiveness. He gave me His son’s life in exchange for mine. So many times the meaning of this gift has been lost on me. “Is that all? It’s not exactly what I wanted. Maybe I can exchange it…. Well, it’s the thought that counts.” And I truly felt that the thought was what counted, and all I needed to do was acknowledge the thought. “OK, God, I really appreciate you thinking of me. Thanks!”

But it’s not.  The gift counts, and the giver counts. What good is it to get a gift card if I never spend it, regardless of how much I “appreciate” the thought? God wants me to do more than take his gift and appreciate it. He wants me to do something with it.

So for me, this Christmas will be about responding more deeply to God’s gift than I ever have. Not just appreciating the gift, not just appreciating the thought, but loving the giver and giving my whole life back to him. Because God’s real gift to me is that if I give him my life, he’ll also take responsibility for making it a worthwhile one.

At one point I was contemplating titling this post The True Meaning of Christmas, but quickly realized that besides being a cliché, I’m not nearly old enough yet to have figured it all out. I’m certain that when I look under the next layer of tissue paper, there will be yet another meaning to the gift. I’m looking forward to discovering it.

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Stepping Into Grace

November 11, 2008

The more I learn about God, the more I realize that it is our active participation that keeps His plan moving. We are the gears and wheels and engine of the vehicle He designed. As long as we continue to function the way the Engineer intended, the vehicle works perfectly. And like a car that needs maintenance, when some of the parts aren’t working right, the car can still function, it just may not be quite as efficient.

This morning during my devotions, I came across this verse in Romans:

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. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God.

Romans 5:1-2 (NIV)

As often happens, I’ve known this verse for a long time, but today I specifically noticed the end of verse 1. Grace is not something that is handed to us. It is freely given, but we have to do something to receive it. Faith unlocks the door, Christ opens it, but we have to step into it. This doesn’t mean we have to earn grace–that’s impossible. It just means that unless we claim the gift, it will stand empty and out of our reach.

Let me never forget that I cannot spend my life just praying and hoping and waiting for God to change me. He will, but it’s going to take work on my part to make it possible. It’s my obedience and the work that I do that activates the promises and starts them working in me.

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