Take it from me. I'm messy. When my circumstances got ugly, I got fed up like anyone would. And then, I have had to take steps to clean up my anger and frustration, folding them and stacking them according to color and size, and then with little warning, I've yanked them back out and tossed them around the room.
One step forward, two steps back.
I've had the habit of undoing what I've done, for at times the cleaning up felt helpful to my sanity. At other times, letting it all come undone is what kept me from losing my sanity.
I've struggled with notions of unfairness. I've experienced consequences I didn't deserve, and it sucks. There have been days where I have wanted to yell and scream and cry instead of putting on a good little holy face. I've wanted to be mad. I've longed for justice and for God to smack my situation into a state of eternal rightness.
I've struggled with applying forgiveness to a seemingly unforgivable situation. I've vowed that even if God were to provide me a forgiveness paint-by-number, I still wouldn't be able to figure it out.
And boy have I bucked when God has pricked my heart to be the bigger person when it makes my skin crawl.
I've had to remind myself constantly that this is what I signed up for as a Christian--rarely easy, mostly hard. It's like being an older sibling who sees a younger one get away with everything while experiencing consequences for the most minor of offenses, all in the name of being the one who knows better.
I do. Being His child, I know better. I know I'm not supposed to exist with grudges or unforgiveness.
I know all of that. I have no problem knowing better. But I can't always do better.
There have been days it has brought me to my knees because I've understood how lowly I am beneath Him. How futile my efforts are without Him. That I could have never been the one to be whipped and tormented for the sins of the world when I've barely been able to muster the words "I forgive you" to someone who wronged me.
And then there have been days I've wanted to raise my fist to the skies and shout, "KNOCK IT OFF, GOD!" Because surely He gets that I've sometimes reached my limit when He allows another heaping helping of gross onto my plate. I've been mad when I consider that He could choose to wipe hard things away, and He doesn't. And I've thought about all the times He let a deliberate amount of justice come to pass upon people who did a bunch of wicked things in the Old Testament.
I've wondered, where is the God who struck down cities? Who fell a nasty giant with a stone?
Many days, I want turning-over-the-money-tables Jesus. I want the Jesus who can scatter pompous naysayers with a stick and some fresh sand. I want the Jesus with edge. With fire. With spunk. And instead, I tend to get the zenned-out seventy-times-seven Jesus who sits calmly on a hillside telling me to love my enemy.
And quite frankly, most of the time, I don't want to.
Tell me to do anything else. I won't cheat on my husband. I won't kill anyone or steal my favorite lip gloss from the nearby MAC store. I won't worship fourteen-carat horses or demand Aquafina from a rock like Moses. I can follow those all day long. All day every day. Not a problem.
But have grace and forgive?
Nope, sorry. I can't do that.
It is hard--so, so hard--to be what He asks of us.
Our nature is to look out for and protect ourselves, and when we invite His nature to be a part of us, the two often crash. Our priority is us; His priorities focus on others.
There's a tug of war that persists. Sometimes, He wins out, and others we refuse to budge. And then, maybe we let Him win enough times that we think we've got it down! And then He throws us a curve ball that can make us feel like we're back to square one.
It is a marathon. It is a journey. And an imperfect one at that.
But don't let the hardness of it keep you from experiencing the greatness of it. Those moments when you finally understand what He meant by the "peace that surpasses all understanding."
Those moments you find you're able to lay something down at His feet.
Those moments you find you can forgive what you thought you couldn't.
Those moments you find joy when there is an overwhelming push to be discontent.
Those moments that someone else finally notices that you're different.
You are different, and what a beautiful, broken, and redeemed kind of different it is! It reminds me of the picture our friend Jon Guerra paints in the song "Stained Glass":
Show me what you see when You look at me
Show me what is real more than what I feel
We are stains, it's true
But when Your light shines through
We all look like stained glass windows to You
We are only different when we let His light shine through our brokenness.
So no. I can't lie, friend. The Christian life is a doozie. You'll mess it up and watch it all come back redeemed. You'll wish for it to be easier and then be proud of yourself for enduring. You'll strive and push against the faults in this world, and you may think things could never be different.
And then one day, you'll wake up and realize that something is different.
And that thing will be you.
~~
So go out, friend, and take heart. You are trying your best, no doubt. But as the days carry on, I hope for great success for you.
I hope that people look at you and don't just see someone who wants to be right.
I hope that people look at you and don't just see someone who follows the rules.
I hope that people look at you and don't just see someone who hopes they get what they deserve.
I hope that people look at you and don't just see someone who thinks that they're better.
I hope that people look at you and don't just see someone who can't be offended.
I hope that people look at you and don't just see someone who makes it look easy.
I hope the world looks at you.
And I hope they see Jesus.
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