Finish Well

I'd like to confess something to you today: getting things done is important to me. There is a certain euphoria in developing and beginning new projects, new books, new habits; but seeing those things through is important to me as well. Crossing that finish line, crossing those things off my list brings a sense of accomplishment and-- I'll be honest --worth. I feel as though I have left my mark as a human being. There are myriad problems with this, however; one of them being, the thrill I get from beginnings causes me to overplan and overcommit, and the satisfaction I get from completions causes me to rush through those things, stressed and striving all the way. Henry David Thoreau, in his book Walden, says:

He who distinguishes the true savor of his food can never be a glutton; he who does not cannot be otherwise.

It is the difference between consuming for the pleasure of it, for the experience or long-term (in some things, eternal) benefit that can be gained, versus consuming simply to consume. 

Take for instance, our quiet time with the Lord. I hope that's part of your day, everyday. When you close your Bible or turn off the worship music, is your heart full? Are you uplifted and feel ready for whatever comes your way? Wonderful. But, what happens when moments later your youngest is, once again, refusing to get dressed? What happens when that first person cuts you off in traffic? What happens when you arise from your knees and the cat knocks the cactus you've been nursing for weeks onto the new carpet? If your answer is not mercy, prayerfulness, patience, perhaps you've been consuming without truly savoring; perhaps you have been pushing your way recklessly to the finish line without understanding or paying attention to the purpose of the race. Ask me how I know. Our time with Jesus each day, throughout our day, is meant to prepare us. 

When Jesus retired to secluded places to pray, He was seeking intimacy with His Father-- with our Father. I've noticed through our years together, my husband and I have picked up mannerisms and expressions from one another; some of his quirks have become mine and vice versa. When he and I are through having breakfast together, I don't go about the rest of my day floating on a cloud, experiencing some sort of exhilaration because we've been together. In fact, the clearest way anyone could suspect we've spent time together is by watching me be me yet, seeing glimpses of Scott in who I am. Jesus prayed His disciples (that's all of us who follow Him) would be one as He and the Father are one. We become one with Jesus and one with each other by spending time together, by knowing one another's character and relating to each other based on that character. Choosing to imitate, to copy behavior, may get us to the finish line more quickly, but it's an outward modification. We'll have missed the deeper transformation, the change that comes from the heart and is reflected from the inside out. 

That's what our time with Jesus each day is about. We quietly, obediently, humbly, submissively seek His will in that time, surrendering leadership to Him, listening for His voice that we might take on His characteristics; not that we might simply feel like we're ready, but that we would truly be ready, armed and obedient. I pray that none of us crosses that finish line before we have been prepared to finish well. I pray that none of us gluts our way to fullness, but seeks the fullness that can only be found in God's presence, in God's time.

A Dose of Reality

About a year ago, I tried my hand at writing Fiction. I'd taken a class with the idea of honing my writing chops in a new area and learning a thing or two. Prior to the course I'd attempted to write a few stories, but struggled, particularly with writing dialogue. It felt as though I was merely putting words on a page rather than "hearing" conversations taking place between people I "knew." The course showed me my imagination was keener than I thought, and that fabricating characters and events could be fun. I could make lions fly and ducks roar; I could make the poorest man rich and the richest man poor, but even those things had to be done within the framework of some elements of reality. Without something to relate to, how could a reader begin to imagine the story in their mind's eye? How could a reader know what "sniggletops" were unless I described them with words like "creatures" or "beautiful," terms we all understand? 

That's the trouble with a lie. A lie is a fabrication, but not without elements of reality. I can't tell you I robbed a bank without including things that are real: the bank, for instance, a business establishment in which money is kept. The existence of reality in a lie can be a deception in itself. It can be the very thing that convinces you the lie is true. I didn't say I robbed a tissue box; that would be absurd; but to rob a place where money is kept would make sense. The only element of fabrication you'd really have to get past is whether I did it or not, and you'd have to know me or know about my activities to know if it was true.

When the serpent appeared before Eve in the Garden of Eden, he didn't hit her with, "You know your Creator isn't telling you the truth," right out of the gate. First, he twisted the information and he tested her knowledge about God. She waffled, and he moved in for the kill: You will not surely die. For God knows that in the day you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil. Eve fell for the lie, Adam affirmed it, and bondage was born. John 8:32 tells us it is truth that makes us free, but in the infamous words of Pontius Pilate, "What is truth?" In John 14:6, Jesus says, "I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life." To know Jesus is to know not just a truth-teller or one who values the truth. To know Jesus is to know Truth itself-- Himself.

Without knowing the truth-- the whole truth, a lie becomes much more believable, especially when fabricated by an expert known to be the "father of lies." Satan won't hit you with an outrageous accusation; he's going to dredge up your past. He's not going to lead you straight into disbelief without first making you question the value of church every Sunday or the integrity of your church family. Lies-- the ones that change the world anyway --are carefully, methodically woven with just enough truth to make the casual listener, the half-hearted believer, the nominal Christian fall for them. Effective lies aren't about roaring ducks and flying lions. Effective lies test our knowledge of the Truth, His words, His character, His history, and His love for us. But even the best lies are mere fabrications, fiction. Jesus is Truth.

In the '70s, Christians jumped on the old Coca-Cola slogan using it to point to Jesus as "The Real Thing," what the world wants. Well, the world doesn't want Jesus, and I'm not very certain the world even wants truth anymore. We've got nonsense like "your truth" and "my truth" now. But the world needs truth and the world needs Jesus. As Christians, we have to know the Truth; we have to know for certain. We're not Fiction writers; we are ambassadors of Truth. And we need to make sure, for the sake of those around us, we know what we're talking about.