Tag Archives: reflections

294. The God Who Hides

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I’ve been rereading Exodus lately. It’s really boring.

Sure, the book of Exodus has its exciting bits. The book’s first half tells the story of Moses, and how God worked through him to rescue Israel from its slavery in Egypt. It’s an engaging story: the Lord strikes Egypt with all kinds of interesting disasters, and Moses’s standoff with Pharaoh gets pretty heated.

Moses and the Israelites end up in the desert next to a mountain called Sinai, and that’s where things grind to a halt. God, who appears to the Israelites as a cloud, retreats to the mountaintop. After laying out a bunch of societal regulations for Israel, God commands Moses to climb Sinai in order to receive… more rules and instructions.

I won’t go into more details because, honestly, they’re rather tedious. Besides those details, however, something stands out to me from the second half of Exodus.

God keeps his distance.

At Sinai, God gives the Israelites very specific instructions to avoid the mountain. Only Moses is permitted to climb to its summit, and even then he isn’t allowed to see God’s full glory.

Then the Lord said, “There is a place near me where you may stand on a rock. When my glory passes by, I will put you in a cleft in the rock and cover you with my hand until I have passed by. Then I will remove my hand and you will see my back; but my face must not be seen.” (33:21-23)

From all Israel, God’s chosen nation, only one man gets a brief, incomplete glimpse of God. It’s pretty much the closest anyone comes to seeing the Lord in the Old Testament. Sure, God makes a few appearances here and there, but he mostly seems to run things from behind the scenes. Only a few priests are allowed anywhere near God’s presence in his places of worship. Just a handful of leaders and prophets ever glimpse him.

I have often wondered why God seems so distant—especially in our own skeptical, pluralist, postmodern age. The silence of God troubles me greatly, and faith sometimes seems foolish. Is it fair for God to demand obedience and fealty without providing irrefutable evidence of his existence?

I don’t know. Is it okay to admit that? I really don’t know.

Maybe God keeps his distance because we can’t handle the full measure of his power and holiness. That view certainly finds support in the Old Testament. (It’s also supported by the scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark in which God’s glory fries a bunch of Nazis, but Indiana Jones movies might not be the best resource for theological speculation.) It’s possible that God hides because faith, “being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see,” is a virtue he values highly. If God were obvious, faith would not be possible.

It’s worth pointing out that after seeming largely absent in the Old Testament, God showed up in the New Testament in the person of Jesus Christ. The Lord Jesus didn’t keep his distance. Heck, he spent much of his time with the sort of people no one else would go near. Christ touched lepers and chatted with floozies. He was as close and immediate as God had previously seemed distant and unapproachable.

I’m comforted by some of Christ’s final words as he hung dying on a cross. He said, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

These few words reveal something I find almost unbelievable: even Jesus Christ was troubled by the seeming distance and silence of God. I don’t get it. I don’t understand why God seems so far away. Apparently—at that moment—neither did his Son.

Some of my questions may never be answered, but I’m far from the only person asking, and that gives me hope.

290. Some Serious Thoughts on Singleness

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I’m sometimes asked whether I have a wife or girlfriend. Since discussions of singleness tend to be awkward, I usually reply, “Well, I’m secretly married to a lady back in Ecuador. Her name is Anna María Rosa, and we have twelve children.”

Singleness is one of those subjects that makes everyone feel self-conscious, which is why I’ve put off discussing it. Why am I writing about it now? That’s a good question, dear reader, and it has a simple answer: Today is one of those days I can’t think of anything else to write. (You wouldn’t believe how many posts have made it onto this blog because I had no other ideas.)

I’ve always been single. Not once have I been married, engaged, or tangled up in any kind of romantic relationship.

An expert on Englishing

Can you believe this charming, sophisticated gentleman is still single?

My attitudes toward my solitary existence have changed over the years. As a kid, I was determined to be a bachelor till the Rapture: an eccentric, cheerful, bookish, tea-drinking, fez-wearing old gent. I held on to this attitude until college. Many of my college friends found romantic partners, and their affections left me feeling conflicted. As happy as I was for my friends… I couldn’t help feeling just a trifle jealous.

Since then, some of my high school and college friends have married. Some have not. A few are in romantic relationships; a few are searching for partners; a few remain staunchly single.

As for me, well, I’d like very much to be married someday. I also like being single very much. I suppose I have “the gift of singleness,” whatever the heck that means. I appreciate the independence, simplicity, and freedom of the single life. As nice as it would be to find my special someone, I’m not going to rush into a romantic relationship for the mere sake of it.

Solitude and simplicity are actually kind of nice.

Solitude and simplicity are actually kind of nice.

Whenever singleness is discussed, I feel sort of bad for not feeling bad. I even feel a little guilty writing this post, despite being entirely qualified (as a very single person) to write it. I know many people who hate being single. They feel lonely, unfulfilled, or insignificant. Some even wonder whether something is wrong with them.

I understand.

So to all the single people out there: You are awesome, and your awesomeness isn’t defined by whether you have a romantic partner. It’s fine to be single, and it’s fine to be in a relationship. It’s okay to like being single, and it’s okay to hate it. I don’t think singleness has to be the thorny issue our culture makes it.

As for my dear readers in romantic relationships, I have a few words for you as well. First, good for you! I hope you’ve found happiness in your special someone.

That said, please don’t assume that everyone needs a special someone to be happy. Don’t single out singles. Don’t tease or patronize us. For those who are sensitive about their singleness, these things hurt. For those who aren’t sensitive, like me, these things merely annoy. Some singles are quite contented, thank you very much, and those who aren’t don’t need to be reminded of it.

Romantic relationships can be amazing. They are not, however, an instant fix for loneliness, insecurity, or any other problem. Far from removing all difficulties, relationships often add them. Loving another person deeply and intimately is hard. Is it worth it? Absolutely. Is it always fun, easy or pleasant? Good heavens, no.

In some ways, singleness ain’t so bad.

Now I’m going to go put on a fez, drink some tea, and read a book, because I am a bachelor and that is how I roll.

286. God is Not a Grump

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I may be overanxious, but prayer kind of scares me.

Does any other person of faith feel at least a little nervous speaking to the creator of the universe? Heck, I get flustered interacting with random people on the Internet. Speaking to the Lord God Almighty is a good deal more intimidating. I mean, he made the starry heavens! He designed trees and molecules and wombats! He created coffee! (I believe coffee is the clearest ontological proof of God’s goodness.) I mean, seriously, the greatness of God is immeasurable, and it makes me nervous.

Yes, I know God loves me. Christian culture tends to emphasize the kindness, love and gentleness of Christ, sometimes to the point at which it forgets his harsher words and actions.

"Hey, man. Got Christ?"

Christian culture sometimes gives this impression of Christ, which is equal parts heretical and hilarious.

I generally make the opposite mistake. I remember the Lord Jesus brandishing a whip, killing trees and calling people snakes. I recall all those times in the Old Testament God pronounced curses on people and struck them dead.

When I pray, I sometimes can’t shake the feeling that God hears my prayers with the divine equivalent of a grumpy expression.

I'll listen to your prayers, but only because I have to.

“I’ll listen to your prayers, kid, but only because I’m contractually obligated by the Bible.”

Why do I struggle with this faint, annoying fear that God is a celestial grouch?

I suppose it’s because I’m painfully aware of my own faults, and not always forgiving towards the faults of others. It’s easy for me to assume that God, being absolutely perfect, is even less tolerant of our sins and failures. If I were God—which, fortunately for the universe, I am not—I wouldn’t be very gracious or patient.

Thus I often have what C.S. Lewis called a “vague, though uneasy, feeling that [I haven’t] been doing very well lately.” This uneasiness makes me reluctant to pray or practice other spiritual commitments. It’s easier for me to bury my anxiety in unnecessary busywork, pointless procrastination or random YouTube videos. Quoth Lewis, “All humans at nearly all times have some such reluctance; but when thinking of [God] involves facing and intensifying a whole vague cloud of half-conscious guilt, this reluctance is increased tenfold.”

It was last week I was reminded, and not for the first time, that praying badly is better than not praying at all. “Next to trying and winning,” as I often say, “the best thing is trying and failing.” When I feel far from God, keeping my distance probably won’t help.

As for God being a grump, well, that’s nonsense. There’s a famous verse in the thirty-fourth chapter of Exodus. God appears in this passage and, being a gentleman, introduces himself: “The LORD, the LORD, the compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness.”

These words are echoed throughout the rest of the Bible, and the “slow to anger” part jumped out at me as I read Psalm 145 yesterday: “The Lord is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and rich in love.” He responds with compassion, not contempt; grace, not disgust; gentleness, not grouchiness.

If God is truly gracious, compassionate and slow to anger, I think it’s safe to say he is not a grump.

283. The Storm and the Internet

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As my dear readers have probably guessed, I like the Internet.

Seriously, the Internet is amazing: an invisible, intangible, worldwide web of information, news, pictures, videos and funny cat pictures, all accessible through a few clicks or keystrokes. Need something? Type it into Google or some other search engine, wait a few seconds and voilà! You have it! Even the world’s best libraries can’t compare to the Internet’s incredible speed, marvelous efficiency, up-to-date accuracy and comprehensive variety.

A couple of weeks ago, a strange thought drifted into my caffeine-addled mind. The Internet brings together the best (and worst) of humankind in one place. Anyone anywhere with an Internet connection can contribute to the Internet, building a vast and ever-expanding construct—something entirely artificial. The Internet is unprecedented. Nothing like it exists, or could possibly exist, in nature. It is a unique triumph of humankind, one only humankind could create and sustain. The Internet is something to which people, cultures and societies everywhere have contributed.

It made me think of the Tower of Babel.

Most of us know the story, I think. The book of Genesis in the Bible describes how humankind came together in an early age of Earth to build a tower to heaven. This building, the Tower of Babel, had two purposes. It was a monument to the pride of humanity and an anchor to prevent them from scattering across the world.

God, however, had other plans. He confounded the language of the people building the Tower of Babel. Construction halted when its builders couldn’t communicate, and humanity eventually spread over the earth as God had planned.

I’m not saying the Internet is evil—good heavens, no! I think the Internet is fantastic.

Nevertheless, I can’t help but notice its similarities to the Tower of Babel. The Internet has united humanity in a way Babel could not; thanks to online translators, even differences of language are not a problem! The Internet records the greatest accomplishments of humankind, and could even be called a monument to human achievement. It’s an artificial world ruled by immediate gratification, quick searches, streaming videos and instant communication. The Internet is a world over which humanity holds absolute sway.

Weeks ago, on the same evening I pondered the Internet and the Tower of Babel, there was a terrific storm. It was majestic, exciting, terrifying and awesome. Trees bent and thrashed in the wind. Rain dashed against my windows. Lightning flashed and thunder cracked. As I dozed off, a flash of lightning penetrated my curtains and closed eyelids to wake me up instantly—it was as though lightning had struck right there in my bedroom.

As I lay awake, I kept thinking about the neat, well-behaved world of the Internet and the wild, overwhelming world outside my window. The storm and its peals of thunder seemed almost like God laughing.

In the morning, appropriately enough, the Internet was gone.

It took nearly a week to have it fixed. In that time, I did more reading than usual. My younger brother and I leafed through my copy of Hyrule Historia and waxed nostalgic over our childhood memories. We enjoyed life without Internet. It wasn’t bad at all.

Now the Internet is back. I’m thankful to have it, and glad to be reminded that it’s just a tiny part of a much bigger, better world!

280. By Faith

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My older brother and his family are moving to the Dominican Republic.

I suppose it should have come as no surprise. My family and I and most of our relatives grew up in Ecuador and traveled regularly between the Americas. Relatives on both sides of my family, Stücks and Erdels, are wanderers. We are foreigners and strangers on earth. We bounce from place to place with practiced ease.

Many of my relatives, however, have settled more or less permanently in one place. I had assumed my brother Andrew and his family were among them.

I guess I was wrong.

Andrew and his wife Sarah own a house in Indiana. When they bought the place, it was kind of a wreck. They worked tirelessly to fix it up. They planted an enormous garden, which they diligently pruned and weeded. (Heck, even I spent more than a dozen hours yanking weeds out of their garden.) My brother and sister-in-law built a hen house and raised at least one or two generations of chickens. I haven’t even mentioned their cats, of which there were three at last count.

For all appearances, Andrew and Sarah and their little ones had settled in to stay.

At this moment, Andrew and Sarah are in the process of selling their house, giving away their possessions, obtaining passports for their three children—their youngest, by the way, is just a few weeks old—and preparing to move to some country they’ve never visited in their lives.

They are doing all this by faith.

That little red line? Yeah, that's about seventeen hundred miles.

That little red line from Indiana to the Dominican Republic? Yeah, that’s about seventeen hundred miles.

When I talked with Andrew about their decision over the phone, I told him he should follow wherever God led. I could not, however, hold back my opinion that dropping everything abruptly and moving to another country seemed “ill-advised.”

I think Sarah found a better word for it in one of her emails: “crazy.”

Andrew and Sarah believe this crazy, ill-advised decision also happens to be the right one. I agree with them. They have good reasons to believe going to the DR is God’s will… and they have the faith to go.

They amaze me, and I’m proud of them.

I’m also not sure I have that kind of faith.

I was recently asked whether it took faith to grow up on the mission field in Ecuador. I replied, honestly, that it didn’t take much. My family was always there. My future always seemed secure. Ironically, it was when I stepped off the mission field and came to Indiana in the US that I found myself really depending on God.

Surrounded by strangers, disoriented by culture shock, out of place, uncertain of the future and feeling very much alone, it was hard for me to begin college in Indiana after leaving Ecuador six years ago. It was just as hard to leave Uruguay and return to Indiana two years ago.

Moving forward is still hard, and I’m settled comfortably. If God told me to leave everything—my cozy apartment, my fast Internet connection, my peaceful neighborhood, my endless supply of coffee and Cheez-Its from the local Wal-Mart—would I go? If a three-hour drive overwhelms me with anxiety, how would I handle moving, say, to Kenya? If depression makes my life in Indiana a challenge, how would I survive depression in some unfriendly, faraway place?

If God tells me to go, will I go?

One day after Andrew and Sarah confirmed their decision, my Scripture reading took me to Hebrews eleven. Yes, this is the By faith chapter. It lists all these great biblical heroes and the great things they did—things done by faith, of course—and then…

These people all died having faith in God.

How cheerful.

The chapter goes on.

They did not receive what God had promised to them. But they could see far ahead to all the things God promised and they were glad for them. They knew they were strangers here. This earth was not their home. People who say these things show they are looking for a country of their own. They did not think about the country they had come from. If they had, they might have gone back. But they wanted a better country. And so God is not ashamed to be called their God. He has made a city for them.

My brother and his family, like our dear parents and so many of the wonderful people in my life, have chosen to be strangers on earth. They’ve given up safe, permanent homes and faced all kinds of difficulties for rewards they’ll never see in this life. They live by faith. And so God is not ashamed to be called their God.

By faith, my family follows God.

I’m trying to do the same. It scares me, especially on the days I suffer from severe depression or anxiety, to wonder where God may lead me.

Wherever it is, I’ll follow. By faith, I’ll follow. At the very least, by faith, I’ll try.

After all, as I never tire of saying, “Through many trials, toils and snares I have already come. ‘Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home.”

279. Adam Turns into the Hulk and Rants about Church Music

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Caution: This blog post contains furious ranting. Sensitive readers, and readers averse to things being smashed, are advised not to continue.

Being a blogger is great fun, but it’s not without risks. In a small number of cases, frequent exposure to wireless Internet connections has caused bloggers to develop unexpected conditions. I am one of these unfortunates. I and at least one other blogger have become tragic victims of HBS (Hulk Blogging Syndrome).

What does this mean? Well, there’s really only one thing about HBS you should know: Don’t make me angry. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.

That said, today’s blog post is all about contemporary church music, and the way classic hymns are rewritten with new music or lyrics. Well, rewritten may be too kind a word. Hymns are mutilated. They are trampled upon. They are… ugh… I suddenly don’t feel well…

I… I…

BLOG SMASH!

BLOG SMASH!

ADAM IS GONE. NOW THERE IS ONLY HULK. HULK HERE TO DISCUSS CHURCH MUSIC. AND TO SMASH.

HULK DOES NOT LIKE MODERN CHURCH MUSIC. ITS SONGS SEEM MUSICALLY WEAK AND NONDISTINCT. THEY ALL SOUND THE SAME TO HULK. THEIR LYRICS ARE OFTEN NOT VERY MEANINGFUL. THEY ARE SOMETIMES DOWNRIGHT STUPID.

(HULK DISCLAIMER: SOME MODERN WORSHIP SONGS ARE FANTASTIC.)

MANY PEOPLE LOVE MODERN CHURCH MUSIC. THAT IS OKAY WITH HULK. HULK DOES NOT WANT TO BE PHARISEE. WHATEVER MUSIC BRINGS PEOPLE CLOSE TO GOD IS GOOD MUSIC.

CHURCHES ARE WELCOME TO THEIR NEW MUSIC… BUT LEAVE OLD MUSIC ALONE!

SOME OF US LIKE OLD HYMNS. “IT IS WELL.” “AMAZING GRACE.” “BE THOU MY VISION.” “COME THOU FOUNT OF EVERY BLESSING.” THESE ARE GOOD SONGS. THEY ARE FINE THE WAY THEY ARE. SOME PEOPLE FIND THEM TOUCHING AND MEANINGFUL, FULL OF BEAUTY AND TRUTH.

STOP TACKING ON NEW VERSES, CHANGING MELODIES, ADDING UNNECESSARY BRIDGES AND MAKING POINTLESS CHANGES.

PLAYING OLD HYMNS IN NEW STYLES IS FINE. HULK LOVE HEARING HYMNS PERFORMED IN CONTEMPORARY STYLES. THAT IS AWESOME. OLD HYMNS ARE AWESOME. GO AHEAD. JAZZ THEM UP. BUT DO NOT CHANGE THEM.

HULK RECENTLY WENT TO CHURCH. CHURCH SANG “IN CHRIST ALONE.” THIS IS NOT OLD HYMN, BUT IT IS BEAUTIFUL IN EXACT SAME WAYS. “IN CHRIST ALONE” HULK’S FAVORITE SONG. EVER.

CHURCH ON SUNDAY CUT OUT AN ENTIRE VERSE OF “IN CHRIST ALONE.” WHY? ADDED BRIDGE WITH WEAK MELODY AND THESE LYRICS: “Oh, Oh, Oh.” HULK NOT MAKING THIS UP. THOSE WERE WORDS ON SCREEN. “Oh, Oh, Oh.”

THOSE WORDS NOT AN IMPROVEMENT OVER THESE WORDS:

In Christ alone, who took on flesh: fullness of God in helpless babe,

This gift of love and righteousness—scorned by the ones he came to save.

Till on that cross as Jesus died the wrath of God was satisfied,

For every sin on him was laid. Here in the death of Christ I live.

THESE WORDS ARE BETTER THAN “Oh, Oh, Oh.” WHY DID CHURCH STRIP AWAY BEAUTIFUL WORDS FROM HYMN AND REPLACE THEM WITH MEANINGLESS NOISES?

HULK NOT KNOW. HULK NEVER KNOWS.

HULK ASK ALL CHURCHES EVERYWHERE. PLEASE. LEAVE OLD HYMNS ALONE. THEY ARE FINE AS THEY ARE. PLAY YOUR NEW MUSIC. HULK GIVE YOU THAT. BUT GIVE HULK THIS ONE THING. MAKE ONE CONCESSION FOR HULK. YOU CAN HAVE NEW SONGS. DON’T RUIN OLD ONES.

PLEASE. PLEASE. HONOR BEAUTY AND TRUTH IN OLD HYMNS.

HULK OUT!

Whoa… I… what just happened? Why is there a mound of splintered wood where my desk used to be? Who ripped apart my shirt? Why are my typewriter monkeys fleeing in terror?

I suddenly feel sick, so I’m afraid I must cut this post short. Sorry. Now I’m going to yell at my monkeys for wrecking my bedroom, and then go put on some clothes.

Question: Should Hulk rants become a regular feature on this blog? Let us know in the comments!

“Let It Go” Is a Great Song, but a Terrible Philosophy

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Disney released Frozen a number of months ago. It was, honestly, quite a good movie, but the film was largely eclipsed by one of its songs, “Let It Go.” There’s some truth in the joke about Frozen being the song’s feature-length music video.

I like “Let It Go.” It may be ridiculously overhyped, but the song is really quite a catchy one. The remix above is by far my favorite. “Let It Go,” a slow, melodic ballad, translates unexpectedly well to dubstep.

Despite its beautiful music, I find “Let It Go” bittersweet. The song is defiant, exalting rebellion and egoism, lifted up from a broken heart, reflecting a bitter moment. “I don’t care what they’re going to say,” sings Elsa. “Let the storm rage on! The cold never bothered me anyway.” She adds, “No right, no wrong, no rules for me. I’m free!”

I know people who live with that kind of selfish abandon. They’re some of the most miserable people I know. I think of them sometimes when I hear “Let It Go,” and my heart aches for them.

In the film, Elsa eventually finds a happy ending. (This is a Disney film, after all.) “Let It Go” reflects just one moment in her journey—a particularly selfish, defiant moment. The song’s pathos is touching, but it represents a horrible attitude toward life. It makes me sad that in a film celebrating loyalty and love—real love, “putting someone else’s needs before yours,” not Disney’s usual follow-your-heart nonsense—the thing most people latched onto was the song about selfishness.

“Let It Go” may represent a terrible philosophy, but it’s a great song. I particularly enjoy the remix above. Nothing brightens up a sad song like stuffing it with dubstep beats!

272. Making Lessons Stick

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I struggle to remember things. There’s probably a reason for this, but I’ve forgotten it.

In seriousness, I don’t have any good excuse for forgetting stuff. It’s not like I’m an old man or the guy from Memento. All the same, things seem to be constantly slipping out of my mind: names, faces, phone numbers and memories of all kinds. It’s especially hard for me to recall details from my own life. The past twenty-something years are a brightly-colored blur.

I visited my old college campus a number of weeks ago. It was a bit surreal. That campus was my home for seven semesters, yet it seemed to vanish from my memory the moment I graduated. Every time I visit the campus, it seems unfamiliar. I can hardly believe I spent months, let alone years, living there.

Why does this place seem so familiar? Have I seen photos or visited? Oh, that’s right, I spent a few years there. I suppose that would explain it.

In some ways, my poor memory is actually kind of a blessing. I’ve lived in so many places that it’s nice not to be burdened with homesickness for all of them. It’s hard to pine for the past when I can’t remember it. My day-to-day life is mostly uncluttered by memories, and they’re all the sweeter on the rare occasions I recall them.

Of course, a bad memory is also a nuisance… mostly for the people around me. I sometimes offer my younger brother an observation, opinion or bit of news only for him to reply, “Adam, this is the fourth time you’ve told me that.”

My memory isn’t even consistent in its faultiness. For example, I memorized the “quality of mercy” speech from “The Merchant of Venice” for an English class nearly a decade ago. I’ve made no effort to remember the speech, yet can recite it word for word to this day. On the other hand, entire epochs of my life (like my college years, mentioned above) seem distant and empty. It takes an effort for me to remember anything that happened before, say, last Tuesday.

The worst part of having a lousy memory is that it makes learning lessons hard.

If you’ve followed this blog for more than a few months, you should probably find some better way to spend your life. (I’m joking! Don’t go! Please come back!) If you’re one of the brave readers who has stuck with this blog for half a year or more, you’ve probably noticed how I’ve revisited certain things. I’ve written a lot about grace, and depression, and doubt, and the fear of not being good enough.

Part of the reason I revisit things is that learning is an incremental process. Learning a lesson takes one day; living a lesson takes years. If I’m honest with myself, however, part of the reason I write about some things so often is that I forget them. Writing about lessons and struggles helps me remember them.

What does this mean? Well, TMTF has had plenty of posts about grace and doubt and stuff, and it will probably have plenty more. I’ll keep going in circles, hitting some of the same notes again and again, occasionally hitting new ones (I hope) and gradually making the most important lessons stick.

Now then… what was I talking about?

267. I’m Giving Up

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The ironic thing about some of the lessons I’ve learned is that I haven’t really learned them.

Sometimes, I know things without understanding them. I accept a lesson and then forget it. When I’m reminded of some lessons, I understand them a little more fully. Learning becomes an incremental process.

Thus I’m going to quote myself quoting C.S. Lewis and say,

Thus, in one sense, the road back to God is a road of moral effort, of trying harder and harder. But in another sense it is not trying that is ever going to bring us home. All this trying leads up to the vital moment at which you turn to God and say, “You must do this. I can’t.”

Living by grace doesn’t mean merely trying to do good things, says dear old Lewis,

But trying in a new way, a less worried way. Not doing these things in order to be saved, but because He has begun to save you already. Not hoping to get to Heaven as a reward for your actions, but inevitably wanting to act in a certain way because a first faint gleam of Heaven is already inside you.

In other words: Stop trying to be good enough and depend on God’s grace.

My problem is a paradox. I have made depending on God’s grace just another facet of trying to be good enough. As I said last time, I wanted to be consistent. I wanted to depend on God’s grace consistently. Grace became another weapon in my battle to get it right.

Maybe grace is simply permission to stop fighting.

I’m giving up. My dreams of reaching a nice, level plateau of angelic goodness and contentment are gone. My life will be disordered, flawed and messy. I shall sin and struggle and make mistakes. (Please note these are a statements of fact, not of intention.) There will be days of depression and grief and anxiety, and nothing I can do to prevent them.

What does this mean for my day-to-day life? Honestly… not much. I’ll keep living, working, praying, reading, writing, playing video games, drinking too much coffee and failing to act like a solemn, serious adult.

As I do these things, I’ll try not to hold myself to the self-imposed standards of years past. I won’t replay and review things constantly in my mind, and I certainly won’t agonize over mistakes. By accepting I shan’t be perfect, I can stop trying—better yet, I can try in that new, less worried way.

I’m giving up.

266. Crying Out for Consistency

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And today I will trust you with the confidence of a man who’s never known defeat, but tomorrow upon hearing what I did, I will stare at you in disbelief. Oh, inconsistent me, crying out for consistency.

~ Relient K

I had a birthday not long ago. On that bright, chilly spring day, I reached the ripe old age of twenty-four and resigned myself to the gloomy of business of being an adult. As I reflected upon my future, I chose a keyword for my twenty-fifth year—a one-word resolution to guide my actions, attitudes, words and thoughts for the next twelve months.

Consistency.

Within one day, I had deceived myself into doing things I should not have done—sinful things. My fine resolutions were effortlessly flattened by familiar temptations. So much for consistency.

Just one day after that, a bleak depression settled upon me. It lasted for days. While I was depressed, I could only scowl at my hopeful new keyword. Consistency? What an idea. In the paralyzing grip of depression, it was all I could do to function. I dragged myself along, hour by hour, grimly surprised every night that I had survived another day. I couldn’t be consistent. I could barely keep going.

Once again, consistency was an empty hope.

For years and years, my life has been largely driven by one all-important conviction. I could express it in a number of ways, but the simplest is this: I needed to get it right. No matter the circumstances, no matter my feelings, no matter what trials and challenges assailed me, I needed to get it right—to love God and to love others and to have faith and to be awesome. God’s grace had redeemed my life, sure, but it was up to me to live.

I wanted for years to reach a plateau or level of goodness and faith. It seemed logical that I would eventually learn every lesson, overcome every temptation, cast off every burden and consistently live a good, contented life. There had to be some secret, some attitude, some perspective or paradigm to make everything click and all the pieces fall into place.

Thus I tried out a long series of resolutions, attitudes, philosophies and personas in my quest to be consistent. I’ve always known I can’t be perfect, but consistency seemed like a reasonable goal.

Now I’m not so sure.

I’ve written many times about my near-obsessive desire to be “good enough,” whatever the heck that means. God’s grace is another subject I’ve discussed repeatedly. My conclusion is always the same. God declares, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

More clearly than more than ever before, I understand that weakness isn’t merely a sinful nature. It’s helplessness. Weakness is waking up on some days hardly able to stand, let alone work or write or pray. Weakness is never, ever reaching my long-sought plateau of consistency. Weakness is struggling and making mistakes and never quite getting it right.

Weakness is space for God to work.

What next? Well, another blog post, I guess. Check back next time for the conclusion to my thoughts on weakness, grace and where in blazes I should go from here.