It's Not My Problem

 I don't want Douglas anymore, our youngest said. When he'd come to live with us, our son had brought a group of stuffed friends, Douglas the dog being one of them. Some of the smaller ones in the group had already made the transition to "alternative housing" (Read: the donation pile), but Douglas was special, and our boy is still so new. He is trying to grow, he is trying to find his "different," but that can be so difficult to do. I had a sneaking suspicion that sooner or later, our boy would regret his decision. Within a week, he'd lamented to me the disposal of Douglas. He's still in my closet, I assured. You can have him back if you like. Oddly enough, that was the end of the conversation. Another week has passed, and he's not asked for Douglas again, nor has he given me the final okay as to rehoming his stuffed companion. Time will tell, I guess.

As I considered the whole thing, I thought about prayer. Prayer is an outpouring of our hearts to the One who (hopefully) dwells there, to the One who is first and foremost in our longings and our thoughts. Some of the things I think about do not honor God. I worry, or I fear, or I rebel against what is right, or let's be honest here, I am rigid with thoughts of revenge toward that guy who just cut me off to make a left from the right lane. So, I whisper a prayer (maybe I shout); I give all my junk to Him. Get rid of it, so that all that is left is praise and adoration for You, Jesus! And a week later --Does it take a week? --it's back again. How did that get there?! Well, I took it back, of course. I stuck my "Douglas" in the closet --far enough away that I could say I didn't want him anymore, but close enough that I could pull him out when I wanted the "comfort," the familiarity of him again. Finding your "different" can be hard.

1 Peter 5:7 tells us to cast our cares on the Lord because He cares for us. We can bring our worries, our fears, our rebellion, even our thoughts of revenge before the throne and leave them there. Easy for you to say, you tell me. You're not married to a woman like this, or You don't have a child with lymphoma, or You're not being sued by your own brother. Well, it's not so easy for me to say. As a matter of fact, when I first began writing, it was a means to encourage myself, to hold myself accountable; and though there are additional reasons I write today, I still write what the Holy Spirit speaks to me as a record to propel me and keep me moving in the right direction. There have been plenty of times I post an article, move on to the bookkeeping portion of my day only to encounter a nasty little overdraft fee or an overdue bill four times the amount of money in our account. I've closed my laptop after quiet time only to hear commotion breaking out upstairs: someone refusing to do something, or a dog that's absconded with an entire stick of butter, lapping it up all over the house. We've not escaped grief or chaos or divorce or rebellion or drug abuse or mental illness --we've not been immune from any of those things. But what Jesus is asking me, what Jesus is asking each one of us is, To whom do those things belong? Have you given them up for good, have you handed them over to Me that I might work in them, or do you insist on keeping them nearby? Are you going to place them in My care for good, or will you take them back to work on them yourself? Are they your problems, or are they Mine? 

That's what I wrote in my journal this morning: Jesus, there is this problem with ____, but there's nothing I can do about it. My job is to ask You to deal with it; that's what I'm doing. My job is to obey You and pursue a deeper relationship with You; that's what I'm doing. My job is to let others see who You are through me; that's what I'm doing. This problem is no longer mine; it's up to You to do something about it. Amen

And that's that. Douglas can stay in the closet as long as our young man requires; after all, it's only a stuffed dog. But the issues, the fears, the struggles, the sins, I'm casting them on Jesus, releasing my hold, forsaking them completely, giving them to Him. And He'll take care of His own problems.