It turns out, I had a great time last weekend. Honestly, October 13th was a pretty good day. And it was surrounded by other good days. I would have bet money (hypothetically, of course, because I’m too cheap to actually bet money) that I’d be miserable that day. I imagined terrible things. I had the cognitive distortion of “catastrophic thinking,” imagining utter misery and chaotic peril. So to me, being happy that day is simply remarkable, and I give all the credit to Jesus. I had a wonderful weekend; God was good to me.
As I write this, a question floats to my consciousness: “If I had a terrible day, would God still have been good?” It’s a rhetorical question… or at least it should be. When I write it down, I know the answer – God is always good. No question. But when my stress is high, the sin and doubt buried deep inside me creeps up and makes me question his goodness. It’s something I do reflexively. I wonder, “Why did you do this Jesus? Don’t you love me?” although I’d never dare ask that out loud. My heart waffles. Strong waves of sorrow can make me doubt God’s intent for me.
The truth? God is always good;
“God is good to one and all; everything he does is soaked through with grace.”
Psalm 145:9 (MSG)
Every pleasant experience I have is from God;
“Every desirable and beneficial gift comes out of heaven.” James 1:17 (MSG)
If this is the truth, then why am I so quick to assume ill intent of God?
Answer: I allow myself to be deceived.
“See to it, then, that no one enslaves you by means of the worthless deceit of human wisdom, which comes from the teachings handed down by human beings and from the ruling spirits of the universe, and not from Christ.”
Colossians 2:8 (GNT)
My culture tells me, every hour, that I deserve a break. It even tells me that I, for some unknown reason, deserve a new car (which depends on the comical I’m watching at the time), a new boat (so not gonna happen), a new cell phone, and new clothes (which clothes depends on the comical I’m watching at the time). Brene Brown talks about the problem of “Scarcity,” the idea that I something in order to be “enough.” Combine this lie with the lie “I deserve better,” and you have a nation that is pressured, restless, and simply not interested in a God who doesn’t play Santa Claus.
The commercial world surrounding tries to move my want column to my need column, and I become a “constant consumer” that is never satisfied. The outflow of this lie is that I should never experience pain. If I do, it should be fixed so I don’t feel it anymore.
So I take this lie, wrap it around my fear that God is not on my side, and I end up living by what I see, not by faith. If I have pain, I assume God isn’t good to me. If I have no pain, I assume God is good. As I write this, I know God is always good. But when a wave of sorrow comes, I become fickle.
There are many reasons I believe lies, however, as an adult, I am responsible for holding onto these lies. This is why Jesus said that the truth can set me free (John 8:32). The freedom he’s talking about is the freedom from the lies I want to believe; the convenient half-truths that don’t seem very harmful.
Lessons Deb Taught Me
Being married was the greatest joy of my life. I loved loving Deb, and I she loved loving me. I was nuts about her. My dad was the same way with my mom. He would hug and kiss her all the time. Growing up I never suspected they had sex, mostly because I was young and naive. Now that I look back on their relationship, I understand where the six kids came from. Part of how I loved Deb was what I saw vividly demonstrated by my dad. He enjoyed her.
Staying married was also one of the greatest joys in my life. It was also my greatest struggle. I learned to accept Deb for who she was. Sometimes I owned her problems and tried to resolve these problems through extra effort on my part, but that didn’t work. It can’t. It’s not possible to solve someone else’s problem, no matter how much you love them. The problem is it took me over twenty years to realize this. I couldn’t change Deb’s perception. I had to accept her as she was. My job was to make her feel loved, not ensure she loved me like I wanted.
When she contracted sarcoidosis, I had to accept this mysterious disease as part of her life. I assisted her the best I could, but when I was done, she still had the disease. I didn’t mind slowing life down. Actually, it meant I could spend more time with her, which was sort of a win anyway.
Then, when she breathed her last, I learned to accept that God had a plan that didn’t include my feedback. She was gone, and for some reason, I was left. Accepting her death was a process that took longer than I thought it would. It took a moment to understand cognitively understand it, but months to emotionally accept it. I had to constantly recalibrate my thoughts to not include her in them.
Terry (the guy in charge of the cemetery behind my house) told me to remove, “anything you got on your wife’s grave” by October first because of how they removed the leaves. So, I did. But nobody else did. Now Deb’s grave is the only one without anything on it. This includes the grave I affectionately call, “the carnival grave” with its eight solar lights, various of fake flower arrangements (large and small), crosses of varying size and shape, a 17th century gothic angel figure, and various other cute grave trinkets. I think the butterfly on my computer screen is a blow away artifact from this extravagant carnival (and I’m not giving it back). The guy’s gravestone even has a picture of him on it, in technicolor no less. Deb’s grave is underwhelming in comparison. I see her grave and get a little jealous of the carnival happening a few feet away. I just have a wooden cross that wasn’t glued together very well, and some fake flowers. And now, even those are gone. It’s like she’s naked out there. For now, I accept this limitation, even though I don’t want to.
Lessons Deb is Teaching Me
Even though she’s gone, Deb continues to teach me about my sinful desire to control situations. This lesson is called “acceptance.” I didn’t want her to go, but she’s gone. I’m trying to whine less and accept more, so at least sometimes I sound like an adult. Instead of spending my energy on what I think are injustices, I work on my acceptance muscle. Instead of being upset at how much it costs to rebuild a 2008 Honda air conditioner, I just pay it. Instead of focusing on what should be, I accept what is.
But tensions rise when a Christian talks about accepting the world as it is. “Shouldn’t we change the world?” and “If so, then how can we accept it as it is?”
I need Biblical discernment, since I am deceived (see Colossians 2:8 again).
There are three aspects to control:
- What I can control (me)
- What I can’t control (everyone outside of me)
- What I need to pray to change this world around me (insert long list here)
Deb died; I couldn’t control that. How I respond to her death was within my control, and honestly, I wasn’t very good at it. The process of moving from my itty-bitty circle to the one that has capacity to change the world is entered voluntarily. This is where prayer lives and breathes. Bringing the Holy Spirit to change the world outside of me while he slowly changes me in ways I did not request. I end up more like Jesus, less like Andy (win/win).
I can’t change the upcoming Presidential Election…but I can gather people together at Church to pray for God’s will to be done in the election. I can’t stop the persecution of Christians around the world, but I can hold prayer meetings for these brave men and women and bring their needs before the Lord. I can’t change my children, but I can pray for their hearts to be soft to Jesus while I create a positive relationship with them, a relationship that could allow growth to occur.
Anger
I hear the term “righteous anger” far too often by Christians who seem to be justify their anger. The focus of their anger is often on what they think they deserve, not defending Jesus’ honor. Most anger is steeped in a personal view of fairness (often related to money).
I think we need to revisit our intent and consider what control we really have in life. A short paraphrased summery of 1st Peter is;
“Life is unfair, you will be hated because of Jesus, perhaps beaten and jailed, so be more like Jesus.”
I wonder if Christians in America need to work at accepting unfair treatment more than trying to get what they believe is justice.
Anger is my way to TRY to control something that I don’t have control over. It’s based on my perception, which is a problem because I’m “prone to error” (see Colossians 2:8 again). I had a former coworker who had a sharp decrease in his productivity. The supervisor decided to change his job description and limit his hours. The coworker felt insulted, got mad, and shot the supervisor in his back with a shotgun, killing him instantly. The coworker felt justified in taking his boss’ life. The coworker never questioned his perception, it seemed entirely reasonable.
The problem is we are deceived by our emotions. My anger is the result of my perception. If I assume my perception is correct, then the above story could seem justifiable. However, “it’s not about me.” God’s Word is truth. I need to recalibrate my beliefs based on his Word and his standards. And God’s view isn’t, “How can I make things fair for me?” but “What’s the most loving thing I can do to them?”
I work with prisoners to understand; “What happened to you was unfair. What you experienced should not have happened, but that doesn’t give you the right to _______________” (fill in blank with most enjoyed sin). And sometimes, I find myself justifying my own anger.
Anger is the opposite of acceptance. There is a place for anger, but in this self-serving, entitled, pain-avoidant culture, it should not be our first option, but the fifth or sixth one. Acceptance is not love, but it is a loving act.
Accepting the Inside
Acceptance is more than accepting chaos outside me, it’s accepting the chaos within. Accepting my sorrow is part of how I accept life, even though I typically push against it. For whatever reason I reflexively push back on crying. That doesn’t mean I against crying, it’s just very uncomfortable for me. To change this pattern, I give myself extra space to cry.
I went to her grave the first time in a week (which is a long time for me), and sometimes wonder why I still do this. I don’t talk to her because I know she’s not there. I just stare. I think I’m looking past her grave to who she was, to what she did, and think about her wonderful voice and incredible smile. Something bubbled up in me last night. I waited until I got home, sat on the cement pad behind my house and watched the gorgeous sunset. The air was cool, not cold. The sky turned orange and pink before all the color faded into night.
It was there I allowed myself to cry. I guess it’s good to cry, but it’s not something I share I like to talk about, like I talk about the Lions beating the Cowboys. Crying is a little like having hemorrhoids: they may be real, but I don’t want to talk about it.
Who’s in Charge?
I say I believe God is in control, but live my life trying to control as much as I can. There seems to be a gap between Sunday morning and Monday morning.
It’s good I’m not in control. Way too many things to remember. I have to trust the results to God. I’ve come to believe this is a piece of the peace that passes understanding. Good thing I have a good God.