(Thank you, Google Images, for this picture. I only draw stick people - and stick horses.)
The pastor read this quote at church on Sunday, and I can't get it out of my head. Good old Clive Staples once again has something brilliant to say, and in my head I believe it. But here’s the thing: I keep acting like a horse. I keep trying to jump higher and better, and better and higher. I make myself crazy trying to be the best darn jumping horse around, which is kind of ridiculous when you think about it. I mean, when was the last time you saw a bird desperately trying to jump over a rock in its path? Crazy, right?
So if Clive is right and (for the purposes of this analogy anyway) I can ALREADY fly, why do I keep trying to jump like a crazy, lead-footed horse? Because when it comes down to it, I don’t think I really grasp what the work of redemption has done. I don’t understand that I am being improved (not I am working on improving myself…) BECAUSE I have been redeemed, and the work has already been done for me.
Somehow I still think I need to keep trying to get better, but me being better isn’t the point, is it? Me being nicer, stronger, more patient, more together, less materialistic, more loving, more giving, less envious and resentful, more in shape, eating all organic, locally grown foods, never yelling at my kids, always having a clean house, and coming up with new creative, mind-stimulating, educational activities for my children every day isn’t the point. Me being a brand new, whole different kind of creature is the point. A creature that can fly. A creature that looks different than the horses it is surrounded by…the horses who are still trying themselves to jump higher, who are soul-weary of trying so hard to be as good as the horses in the stalls around them, and who are literally dying to know how they can break free and fly, too.
These are pretty words and happy thoughts, but what does it mean in real life? What are the tangible differences between the new creation and the old horse who tries really hard to be a better horse (meaning ME when I forget the work of redemption)? I’m still trying to figure that out, but I have a few ideas…
--Instead of trying harder not to yell at my kids, I can ask Jesus for help. Then when I fail (which I inevitably will) and throw my stainless steel water bottle across the room in a moment of anger (did I do that???), I can repent. I can apologize to my child and together we can pray, asking for forgiveness, and thanking God for loving us better than we love each other.
--I don’t need to try harder not to be jealous of my friends when their lives seem easier than mine, their kids are better behaved, they just spent an entire kid-free morning working out at the Y and getting super fit, their house is bigger, better decorated, and much cleaner than mine, their hair is always perfect, (for real, people…I count it a victory when I get to wash my hair; can’t tell you the last time I FLAT IRONED it…), and their shoes are awesomely trendy (for the love of all that is good and holy, how do they WALK in those things??). Instead, I can repent. I can thank God for blessing my friend with a beautiful, clean house, well behaved children, perfect hair, a Y membership so she can be kid-free AND super fit 6 mornings a week, and the coordination to walk gracefully in platform heels (again….HOW??!!?). I can thank God for giving ME a beautiful-but-not-so-clean house, spunky and spirited children (who wants well behaved children anyway, right?), a baby who keeps me running after him all day so I don’t need a Y membership, and awesome Dansko shoes that support my freakishly high arches and still look kind of cute (nothing to say to God about my hair…). And when I fail (which I inevitably will) and begin to feel the seeds of resentment and jealousy sprouting anew, I can repent again. Then I can thank God for loving me so much better than I love my friends.
--I don’t need to try harder to squash the shame I feel when I feed my children bread and cheese and raisins for the 68th night in a row (you think I’m exaggerating….) while my friends are posting Facebook pictures of the all-natural, organic, gluten-free, non-GMO, locally grown vegan quinoa and polenta curry with no dairy that their smiling children are joyfully requesting a third serving of. Instead, I can repent of that shame. I can thank God for blessing my family with enough food to eat, and for blessing all 5 of us with bodies that are able to grow and thrive on dairy and gluten and genetically modified foods packed with not-so-natural, but very tasty, dyes and additives. And when I fail (which I inevitably will), and once again shame leads me to feel inadequate as a mother (not to mention a nutritionist...), I can repent again. Then I can thank God for loving me so much better than I love myself.
--I don’t need to try harder to be good at praying, having a full hour of daily quiet time, journaling, and finding spare time to read everything ever written by Tim Keller and John Calvin. Instead, when I’ve gone days without uttering an intelligible prayer, I can repent. I can thank God for always hearing my prayers, even when they are weak, short, inconsistent, and I can’t find words that sound pretty or holy or “Christian” enough. I can thank Him for knowing me, taking great delight in me, and wanting only to be with me, even when I feel angry, sad, tired, and spiritually numb. And when I fail (which I inevitably will) and find myself once again preferring to re-read Bridget Jones’s Diary for the 14th time instead of my Bible, Tim Keller, and John Calvin (in that order), I can repent again. Then I can thank God for loving me so much better than I love Him.
You guys, this is only scratching the surface. There are so many ways that the crazy old horse in me wants to keep trying to get it together. The new creature that I’ve been made in to keeps reminding me that I don’t have to – that, just like a bird, a winged creature doesn’t need to be the best jumper in town. Maybe the people around me – the horses who are still desperately trying to jump better – need to see that I’m no longer even trying to jump. Maybe they just need to see me abiding in Jesus in the midst of my failure, my anger, my sadness, my jealousy, my shame and feelings of inadequacy, and even my spiritual numbness. Maybe that’s what I need, too.
I’d like to hope that the longer I abide in Him, the fewer feelings of inadequacy I’ll experience, the fewer fits of anger I’ll display, the fewer bouts of jealousy I’ll wrestle with, the fewer times I’ll choose Bridget Jones over the Psalms. Maybe that’ll happen. Maybe it won’t. But I don’t think that’s the point. I think the point is to just keep abiding. That’s what this new creature looks like. A brand new, different kind of creature – with wings – who is FREE to stop trying and to just keep abiding in Jesus in the middle of my brokenness. A creature who keeps being reminded that I am loved and delighted in and rejoiced over, more than I could ever do in return. That’s grace, folks. One-way love. And grace ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS improves people.
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