Turning

I'm good at claiming God's promises for other people. I believe with everything in me that he is a God of power and love, that he is faithful and longsuffering...for everyone else who believes. 

I've been told that I turn the gospel into a law. There is something in me that wants to run away from grace. Grace makes me feel bad! Why? Because I don't deserve it! Hello! That's why it is called grace; it is unmerited. And God comes after me with all this grace, full and overflowing with grace, and I duck and turn and bob and weave. 

Grace is free. But it's not, too. Jesus paid a high price for me. Jesus paid the price but what is asked of me? To believe. And belief leads to change. And change is scary; change means giving up control...I like to be in control. But Christina in control equals wreckage and explosions and disasters and tears and anxiety and bedlam. 

Each day, I feel more and more the pull to change, though. The control is not mine and it never has been. I've just imagined that it was. I'm pretty stubborn though. Thinking about what a rebellious kid I am makes me realize how very deeply patient God is. What makes him so patient? I don't know, except he is who he is. 

He is. He said so...he told Moses,"I AM." I can almost hear his voice. I hear a deep, rolling, thunderous voice, that reverberates against the walls of the crevice in which Moses hid his face. It's deep, but it's gentle. It's rolling, but it's intimate. It's thunderous, but it's loving. I think that the earth would shake at the sound of his voice! As would my knees! And yet, his father-love, yes, that is what I would know beyond anything else. 

He is so patient. 

I followed Michaela into her room tonight and began cleaning up. This room? Sometimes it's messy, but this? Her floor was covered. Her bed was covered. The closets were overflowing. Her books were scattered. There were bits of paper, crayons, fabric, pieces and parts of all kinds of toys, laundry, and a partridge in a pear tree. 

Not really about the bird, but an ant was crawling on her leg at one point, and I had to get it for her. I told her,"If you don't want ants in here, then smashed candy canes on your book shelf are not a good idea." 

I gathered up the trash and the dirty clothes and put all of that in the hallway to get later. I made a couple of piles of American Girl things for the bin in which those things are supposed to be stored. I picked up books. I picked up bits of this and that. I got rid of Eliana's things, which didn't belong in her room at all. I wasn't able to finish, but I did get a start, and all the while I was cleaning she was working on Valentines. At first, I was fighting anger. (And I'm sure many who read this might feel indignant on my behalf. Or maybe just want to thump me on the head for being a pushover.) I wanted her to offer to help. She did say,"You know, you're good at cleaning up...it's the keeping it clean that gets you." I told her,"I can't clean up after five people." I didn't ask her to help me; maybe I should have. At that point I wanted to get it done as quickly as I could. I wanted to throw things away without asking! In the end, though, I do want her to keep her own stuff cleaned up! 

You know, she has such an excellent example. *choke, choke, snort, gag*

As I picked things up, my anger simmered down. A friend on Facebook the other day posted a couple of quotes which basically said the same thing: kids are watching what we do and doing that, not so much listening to what we say and doing that. That is the truth, and that is what I was thinking as I did all the work. 

As I thought about it, I realized this is how God is. While I sit and work on love notes for all those things that my heart chases after, God is working on my behalf. I think of and make a priority of so many things that are not God. And, sure, he's important and I love him, but do I make him the number one love? I can't say that I do. I might stop and say,"Wow, God, you're so great at restoring that person and for making changes in her life!" and then I get back to work on my Valentine, which is not for God. All the while that I'm ignoring my Creator, the one who sustains me and loves me, he's busy picking up my mess, cleaning up after me, taking the bits and pieces of all that is broken and torn and tucking them away. He is clearing a space, making it clean, getting rid of the grunge. He does a little bit at a time, and he knows that it is going to take a while. But he continues the process: removing this altogether, putting that in its proper place, making room for what belongs. He is patiently renewing. 

And I? As his child, am I watching? Am I both listening and paying attention? If I am, then I will be doing what he does. And because he is I AM, what he says and what he does are perfectly consistent. He is the perfect parent, the one who shows us what we ought to do by doing it himself. He loves the unlovely. And his love makes them lovely. He is the prodigal God (as Tim Keller shows us) in his reckless abandon love for us; he has given everything for us so that we might be his very own sons and daughters! As the prodigal daughter who has with reckless abandon squandered so much, I very deeply desire to return home. He is already running toward me. 

It is time to turn around.