It was quite a few decades ago when I committed my life to Christ. I was sincere and understood that I needed Him in order to be forgiven and in right standing with Him. I had missed the mark of His perfection – which is what sin is – and there was nothing I could do in and of myself to make that right. I needed someone from the outside…someone to pay that debt I owed. And so I accepted that gift God had offered to me, His Son Jesus.
I was determined to live each day for Him, my Savior. I was going to please Him in all I did. I was going to start a new generation of believers since I had come from a family of nonbelievers. I don’t think I could have been more sincere in my attempts to live honestly before Him with the goal of pleasing Him.
But I failed.
I did things I said I would never do.
I didn’t do things I said I would always do.
I made more bad decisions than I can count and suffered the loss of treasured relationships as a result.
Years passed and the beautiful home and garden filled with loved ones, contentment, and joy I had envisioned as my future no longer existed. The landscape was brown, barren, and anything but beautiful. Everything and everyone I held near to my heart had been swept away. And I was the only one standing in the midst of it.
Did God fail me?
Of course not. He can’t. He doesn’t even know how to do such things. He is always with me, though, just like the air I breathe, I don’t always take notice. He is that close.
I wandered around for a time in what was now my future-turned-present. I didn’t talk to Jesus. I didn’t let Him talk to me through the bible. I was too disgusted and ashamed. I failed Him and everyone I loved. I was a low-life.
Time passed.
I met people. People who didn’t know about God, people who did. People who were trying hard to make life meaningful, who were loving their families, working hard. I met people who were doing drugs and those who were in the midst of painful custody battles. I met those who had life together and those who didn’t. I met people whom I once may have unknowingly, and sometimes even knowingly, thought to be ‘below me’ in some way and many I would consider to be ‘above me.’When I lie on the grass outside I see things I don’t see when I’m standing up. A whole different world lives there underground and emerges through the grass. Some things are amazing, some rather frightening, but all quite fascinating in their own way. If I stay there long enough, pleasant or unpleasant, those that reside there begin to accept me into their world. Those that fly in for brief visits also view me as part of the landscape. Whether a butterfly or beetle, in my physically lower state of being, they accept me. And I learn by observing. The ground is not always a bad place to live.
I have learned that people are all people. Living in the barren landscape has allowed me to construct a different sort of structure to dwell in. The windows are kind of blurry so I can’t read classification labels on people’s t-shirts. After all, doesn’t the first book of Samuel say, “Man looks at the outward appearance but God looks at the heart?” Sometimes not seeing gives a clearer view.
The open doors in my new structure, which are many, allow for all kinds of visitors. A large quilt on the wall greets all who enter, pieced together from fabric remnants of long ago, and reads:
People come and go. They sit and chat. Some are sad. Some are full of energy and enthusiasm. Some are weary. Some are creative and highly intelligent. Some are so loving I want to cry every time I see them. Some are so lost they need to be directed back to the door through which they entered when they leave. I find them all fascinating and see them as people living life, regardless if that life is good, bad, or ugly. I listen. I learn. I feel their pain or their joy. I take it all in. I don’t always have things to say in return. “How do I respond to this, Jesus?” I don’t always hear an answer, but trust He will let His own presence do the talking in those cases. He just wants me to accept those He brings into my life, no matter how long or short they stay.
There are other structures on my landscape now, too. Some I don’t really like. I don’t usually choose to go into them, but sometimes I must, usually only for a few minutes at a time. I think about tearing them down, but I can’t. Not because I am not able, but because of their value. If I tear them down, then I cannot sit and listen and chat empathetically with all those who stop by to visit. I would become more like a statue, without a heart and soul, without compassion.
Those other structures that I don’t like prevent that from happening. Whenever I walk through them, I feel every loss, every failure, every lonely or shameful moment. And when I emerge, my heart is softened so I can again sit and listen and chat empathetically with my visitors. These structures are what enable me to love deeply and hold loosely. They allow me to embrace the full extent of my humanness and enrich my life. They make me look inside myself, evaluate my life, and add significant depth to my daily work and play. And, thankfully, I never have to walk through them alone. Jesus always walks through them with me.
I hope to add more beauty to my dwelling as time passes. I would like to make it a more welcoming place for my visitors; a place of carefully cultivated plantings that exude life and health and hope for all those who stop by and so I myself can take pleasure in what is being created. But I know that will only happen as I seek His help and follow His lead. I like what Paul says in Philippians 2:13; “…work out your salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, both to will and to work for His good pleasure.” Fear and trembling? Awe and respect for His majesty and holiness along with submission to His all-knowing and loving ways.
I hope I don’t have too much more to add to those structures which I don’t at all like, but I suppose that would be a bit much to expect. At least I hope it won’t be too often. Am I happy? I am content. I am trying to focus on that upward call of God to be more like His Son, Jesus.