Hallways and Doors

It was the kindergarten class’s field trip. The moms and I took them up to the mountains where we planned to have hot dogs and roast some s’mores over a fire. Unfortunately, the one and only lighter we had with us didn’t work. I’m sure we were all praying about it, because cold meat didn’t sound too appetizing, and the nearest store to buy a replacement was a good 35 minutes away. Someone finally suggested asking a random camper if they had one to borrow. Thankfully they did, and we were able to have food worth eating after all.

Then one of the moms made an analogy: “I guess,” she said, “that’s a reminder of how prayer works—sometimes we need to go do something about it.”

The next day someone shared with me about an answered prayer. “When I was able to relax and sit still,” they said, “God just worked out the details.”

This hearkens back to a conversation I had with a friend about open doors. How do you know what to do with the doors? When is it OK to push a little, or oil the hinges? Sometimes you have to turn the knob, but other times the door is automatic. This has often confused me. When is it OK to just sit back and relax and wait for a door to open on its own, and how do we know when we need to get up and go do something?

Suddenly I began to wonder if perhaps the answer lies in whatever direction shows our faith. I don’t think the prayers or the action are as important to God as our faith. For some of us, sitting in quiet patience takes more faith than marching down a hallway and wrenching open doors. For some, taking action requires more faith than letting our logic assess and dismiss an opportunity.

This brings me to my own life. Are the choices I’m making actively demonstrating my faith in God? If patience is easy for me, is that truly faith, or is it fear cloaked in sheep’s clothing? If I constantly need to be in the know, is that just being a person that’s ready to leap into faithful action, or am I showing a lack of faith through a need for control?

True submission means laying everything out—my fears, my doubts, my desire to know things—at the feet of Jesus, then stepping back completely and letting Him have it all. I need to be content to watch His nail-scarred hands sort through the refuse of my ideas, confusions, and problems. I need to look into His eyes as they meet mine and gaze straight through to my heart. I need to be willing for the things He hands back to me and tells me to do, but also willing to let him move everything out of my sight.

There isn’t an easy answer or even only one answer. How we pray and how we move should always be an act of faith, and true faith leads us into unpredictable places with unpredictable actions. God is not a God of the ordinary, but of the uniquely special things that we could never dream up on our own. His ways are “…great…and unsearchable…marvelous…without number.” (Job 5:9)

When we take a leap of faith, we are reminded again and again that His ways are higher than ours. His thoughts are so beyond our comprehension it’s only a waste of time to try to understand what He is planning (Isaiah 55:8-9).

I want to learn how to quit getting caught up in the moment when I’m standing in the hallway of doors. I want to be attuned to the whisper in my heart, telling me to move or telling me to wait. I want to sing, whether sitting on a mat in the corner or trying doorknobs that won’t turn.

When I can truly believe that God loves me and His plan is what is best for me, I can even go against my nature in order to move according to His direction. I will find myself provoked to action or content to sit at His feet and wait. In the words of one minister, “It’s God’s problem.”

God’s ways will always bring us peace. Even if there is a certain level of fear and trepidation, there is also a calmness in knowing that He has provided direction and the pressure is not on you or I to make something work out. Whether we are relaxing in the hallway or putting a little elbow grease into a door, the final result is not our responsibility and we can rest in the freedom of that knowledge.

While I muddle about in confusion and anxiety, He is standing and waiting for me to recognize that the answer is in giving everything to Him. “It is vain for you to rise up early, to sit up late, to eat the bread of sorrows: for so he giveth his beloved sleep.” (Psalm 127:2)

So this is a reminder, for me more than anyone else, to hand those hallway moments over to God and let go of them completely. If He gives you something to do, He will give you the grace to carry it through. If He gives you a place to sit and wait, He will sit beside you.

And don’t forget, whether you are waiting or working, praise Him—whether that is in the hallway or in the doorway. Because He’s God, and He’s got this situation under control. He loves you, and He’s not going to let you down.

Mediocrity

It’s annoying how things about oneself are so much more obvious to others. I have often said that I am a perfectionist in certain areas, and this is true, but I’ve also become aware that there are a number of areas in my life where I am very content with mediocrity. I’m thankful my friends and family have been so gracious and longsuffering with these things.

I am blessed to have loved so much of my life. I have made bold statements with the connotation that I am not willing to settle for mediocrity. But when I look at reality, I see that I am absolutely settling for what is unmistakably mediocre in some areas.

The Oxford Languages defines mediocre this way: “of only moderate quality; not very good.”

I always tend to think of mediocre as being OK. Not the best, but certainly good enough. Where did this “not very good” definition come in at?

Not only do I have a vast catalogue of traits that I would define as mediocre, I have another list of traits that are even less than mediocre. Could I change these traits? Likely some of them. Am I putting in the effort? Don’t ask.

But then I have the nerve to say I am not happy with a life of mediocrity.

To not live a life of mediocrity, one has to put in a lot of work. And that work is where I’m sure my ideals of exceptionality and the reality of mediocrity clash.

There are a lot of people living in mediocrity. Some of them realize it and some of them don’t. We’ve all seen them, though. Those who are not living in the fullness they could experience.

Mediocre youth groups
Mediocre friendships
Mediocre teaching careers
Mediocre housekeeping
Mediocre marriages
Mediocre joy
Mediocre spirituality

But mediocre is not very good. Why do so many people just go along with the flow of mediocrity?

I think mediocre is easy to settle for because it’s the default mode when one is relying on one’s own strength. To live exceptionally is only possible when we’re living in pursuit of God. Mediocrity is easy.

Mediocrity is often experienced when we are concerned about ourselves. When I don’t feel that my relationships are giving me what I deserve. When my youth group isn’t as fun as I wish it was. When I expect others to put in the work in a friendship. When I’m teaching just to fill in time until something better comes along and I’ve forgotten that it’s a service to God. When housekeeping has become a chore and not an honorable pursuit. When what I want is joy but I’m stuck chasing temporal happiness. When spiritual life is sprinkled liberally with pieces of self I’m not willing to surrender.

Sometimes mediocrity can be traced back to a certain laziness where we are unwilling to deny self. Sometimes it’s a form of pride. Sometimes mediocrity can be a lack of faith in the vision of God as the Giver of Good.

But I don’t think God intended for us to live in a mediocre state. He wants to stretch us, to grow us, to move us into an exceptional life.

2 Corinthians 8:7 says “Therefore, as ye abound in every thing, in faith, and utterance, and knowledge, and in all diligence, and in your love to us, see that ye abound in this grace also.”

Daniel 5 speaks of an excellent spirit. Colossians 3 tells us “Whatsoever ye do, do it heartily.” And in 1 Peter 2:9 we read this: “But ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people; that ye should shew forth the praises of him who hath called you out of darkness into his marvelous light.”

Abound.
Heartily
Chosen.
Royal.
Holy.
Marvelous.

Those don’t sound like mediocre words. They sound like something special. Something valued. Something that is far from the ordinary and mundane.
Yet here we are, too many of us, living a life where we are content with less than exceptional. Or at least we tell ourselves we are content.

I believe that it’s God’s desire for us to grow beyond our comfort zones into a life of more. But I don’t know the answers for how to move out of mediocrity and into amazing. Maybe I don’t know the answer because it could be a little different for each one of us.

It might mean putting effort into spiritual maturity. Maybe it’s in denying myself of the effort I’ve put into my interests and learning to value relationships more. It could be in simply opening my heart in vulnerability.

And so I say I don’t want a mediocre life, but am I willing to prove that with my actions? Imagine how brightly our light could shine for Jesus if we all, collectively, turned our complete desire toward having an exceptional relationship with Him.

Don’t be fooled—even when you are living an exceptional life, it won’t always feel exceptional. Exceptional lives are built in choosing to rise above temptation in a moment of darkness. Exceptional friendships occur when you choose to stay and work through the misunderstandings and disagreements. Exceptional joy is a result of choosing to believe in God’s goodness again and again, even when the trail is barely visible for the thorns.

God did not call us to mediocrity. He’s called us to something greater. And the beauty of it is that we needn’t strive for this on our own. We have each other to fill in the gaps, to uphold us, to direct us on the way, and we have God Himself, who will lend us His strength as we do our humble best to fill the vision He has for each one of us.

Candy Grandpa

Nearly every congregation has one. A Candy Grandpa (or sometimes grandma). Think of the one you know—the smiling elder who always has a pocket full of candies—lifesavers or smarties or peppermints. The children learn quickly who it is, even if the adults don’t always pay much mind.

A few moments after the “Amen” is said, the Candy Grandpa is surrounded by children. Some of them come up to him boldly, grinning, with hands outstretched. Others approach him quietly, almost shyly. None are disappointed.

There are some children, often the younger ones, who don’t venture out to find the Candy Grandpa. I’ve noticed some Candy Grandpas who still find these little ones and offer them the treats they’ve handed out to the others.

My mind goes to the Bible and the verses where we are directed to be childlike. Do I bring my petitions humbly before God? Do I have the courage to ask for good things?

Often I get stuck in the same old prayers—“Lord, just help me make it through the day” or “Please forgive me again.” Wouldn’t it delight God to have me ask Him in faith for something my heart desires?

“Ask, and it shall be given you” (Matthew 7:7a). It’s so hard for me to take this verse to heart. I’m afraid to ask for things, afraid I’ll be turned away. I falter in my faith that God has anything for me other than necessities.

But we serve a good God, a gracious God, who delights in us and wants us to have good things. “If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him?” (Matthew 7:11)

Sometimes we give God one chance. We ask Him for something we really want, and when He tells us “no” or “wait” or “I have something better in mind,” we decide we can’t trust Him enough to make another request. Next time we desire something, we try to find a way to get it for ourselves or we begrudge God a bit for not giving it to us when we haven’t even given Him a chance to do so!

How unlike children and the Candy Grandpa. If the Grandpa runs out of candy for one Sunday, does that mean the children will never ask him for candy again? No, of course not. They’ll try in a week, just like normal. They trust that the source of good things will not suddenly disappear.

There are many, many times when God simply walks up to us and hands us beautiful gifts. But God also likes to hear our hearts. He loves the humble, childlike spirit of the one who kneels before Him and expresses exactly what it is that is wanted.

Maybe we picture God as righteous judgement. That is part of who God is, but He is mercy and gentleness and love. He will not give us a stone when we come asking for bread (Matthew 7:9).

I tend to feel unworthy to ask for good things. I know God has already given me the ultimate gift—His Son, who died a tremendously cruel death, the death that I deserved—and so I determine that I won’t be a bother and ask Him for more. But how silly that mindset is when we think about it.

Imagine yourself, pouring all of your love and care into someone in need. Hypothetically, suppose someone’s house is destroyed by fire. Because you are, in this scenario, a very wealthy person and the victim is someone you care about deeply, you give them a large sum of money to rebuild. You also volunteer time and effort in the planning stages and construction. The house goes up on schedule. It’s a lovely home, with a gracious porch and a welcoming front door.

One evening, after your friends have settled in, you stop by and notice the living room is dark. When you flip the switch by the front door, nothing happens. Confused, you turn to your friend, who stands there blushing. “We couldn’t afford lightbulbs,” he says, “and we didn’t want to ask and be a bother.”

What would you do? I’d do one of two things. I’d either go out and buy lightbulbs or leave them money to do the same. I think you would, too. Because this house feels like your project. You’ve invested in it. You care about what goes on there. What is the sense of gifting a beautiful dwelling, then letting the occupants sit in the dark? You have plenty of money at your disposal. You wouldn’t even miss the price of a lightbulb or two.

But that’s exactly what I do to God. I refrain from asking the things I want because I forget He’s invested everything in me. He has an intrinsic interest in each one of us as His creation.

And so I want to learn to ask God for good things. I want to be trusting and humble and childlike. I want to be vulnerable in expressing my desires. I want to walk up to Him with faith and open hands. Even if He does tell me no, our relationship is more beautiful because of the sharing of my heart with His.

And He rejoices every time His children, in a simple, open, childlike way, kneel before His throne.

“Thanks be unto God for his unspeakable gift.” (2 Corinthians 9:15)

Sacrifice of Praise

"Not vain words of honor praising You above, but true humble service in unselfish love, proves my heart’s allegiance and my love proclaims, causing men to glorify Your name.” –Chad Goossen, “Sacrifice of Praise” in the book He Goes Before

Praise is a glorious thought. It’s fun to receive and fun to give. It brings to mind thankfulness and adoration and poetic beauty. But the Bible doesn’t just mention praise.

In Hebrews 13:15, we are instructed “…therefore let us offer the sacrifice of praise to God continually…” Something about that verse caught my attention one morning. I realized I’d always just focused on the praise. I’d assumed that the sacrifice of praise just meant praising God even when things looked difficult. But was that really all there was to it?

True praise from a pure spirit requires more than just words in the hard times. It requires action. It means laying down my wants and desires—maybe even the things I think I need—and trusting God enough to fully believe His goodness. So, yes, praising God when things are hard, but having such a grounded faith in Him that the hard things don’t send us spiraling into discouragement. A grounded faith that allows me to follow His gentle nudging rather than bitterly taking my own way. A heart attuned to His will, even when nothing makes sense.

I think perhaps the sacrifice part is in letting go of my own opinions and will. Maybe even my own logic. “The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise.” (Psalm 51:17) It’s so easy to get attached to our emotions and thoughts. Letting them go is a humbling thing.

What are some of the things I may need to sacrifice? 

I might need to lay down on the altar my opinion of myself. Sometimes we see ourselves as “pretty good,” an attitude that affects our ability to love and work in harmony with others. 

I might need to forego my desires to be something different than I am. Many of us have parts of ourselves we don’t appreciate. Why wasn’t I created to have a different temperament or talent? Accepting how we’ve been made is a sacrifice of the pride that says I would have known better than God. 

Occasionally it’s good things we need to lay down. Maybe we feel more needed and rewarded when we dash about helping others rather than doing the daily drudgery of caring for those in our own families. Are we willing to sacrifice something that looks good and feels good in order to praise God?

“I the Lord search the heart, I try the reins, even to give every man according to his ways, and according to the fruit of his doings.” (Jeremiah 17:10) Many times in the past, when I’ve heard this verse, I assumed it meant God testing us to see if we would follow His direction. But I am so ignorant, and the real meaning is much more beautiful.

Strong’s concordance entry says this: “inmost being: heart, mind, spirit, the seat of thought and emotion of the inner person.” I can hardly grasp the meaning and the love in this. The Almighty Lord searching my heart, taking into account my inner man, choosing to adore me, even though I’m often a wreck of a person, because He is looking at the things I hold inside and reaching out to hold my hand even as I falteringly walk through life.

How could I help but praise the One who is so full of goodness?

Sacrifice of praise is not a one-time altar. It’s a place returned to many, many times throughout our lives. It’s a place to lay down shattered hearts, bleeding wounds, broken spirits, and anguished tears. It’s a place where we, with the help of God, pluck out the things of our proud, selfish, human nature and learn to be clay in His gentle hands.

Only when we realize the love of He we claim to worship, only when we throw our doubts, fears, and distrust on the altar and lean into Him, only when He sees our hearts are completely submitted to His will—then is the moment of beauty where praise can truly begin.

“May the life I live resound and sing in deep adoration to You my King; I present my life as a sacrifice, Living off’ring praising Your name.” –Chad Goossen, “Sacrifice of Praise” in the book He Goes Before

Sedentary

“Sedentary living allows people to accumulate material goods which can lead to jealousy, power imbalances, and violence.” –Sam Kean, Dinner With King Tut*

This quote is worth reading again. “Sedentary living allows people to accumulate material goods which can lead to jealousy, power imbalances, and violence.” Maybe, at first glance you don’t see anything remotely connected with our Christian lives. There’s not a lot of jealousy, power imbalance, or violence, is there? Probably not.

But sedentary living? I’d have to say yes.

This quote comes from a section of the book comparing hunter/gatherer societies with societies who settled into an agricultural way of life. The idea, whether right or wrong, was that a group of hunter/gatherers were so involved with the hard pursuit of daily sustenance and living, that they worked together in a more connected way and were less likely to become involved in fighting among themselves.

On the other hand, agricultural societies were able to begin laying up excess. This led to comparisons of who had more. It gave way to time to refine skills which could be traded for more and better goods. This focus on accumulation soon led to all sorts of negative behavior towards others within the group.

How many of us lead a sedentary Christian life? We go to church on Sunday and nod along with the message, but we don’t necessarily pursue change throughout the week. We know we lack a little charity toward those we come in contact with, but it’s just a little failure; there are a lot of things I’m doing OK in. We understand that we struggle with trust, but don’t most people?

And so we become comfortable. We start to accumulate these human traits, becoming lulled to the reality that we are also becoming stagnant.

As we become mired in our comfortable spot, we start losing our dependence on and appreciation for those around us. We look at what others possess—maybe their talents or social position—and become jealous that they have what we perceive as more. We become frustrated when others won’t listen to our thoughts or ways of doing things, and feel like anything outside of our comfort zone is outside of our control and a threat to our very existence. Our thoughts and words about others begin to contain elements of violence. No, we’re not going out and attacking people with knives, but we are apt to cause them pain in other ways.

Hardship can be a catalyst for growth or we can refuse to rise to the challenge and stay in our sedentary state. This is a choice we have to make. It’s an opportunity to choose the “hard right over the easy wrong.”

When we become focused on our own relationship with God and on improving our obedience, faith, and connection with Him, we are so busy going out hunting and gathering, we don’t have time to devote to the critical spirits that would like to sneak in. We become steadily closer to His heart and learn to lean into trusting Him rather than giving in to doubts. We feel His grace and love so keenly in our own lives, we are compelled to give them freely to others.

1 Samuel 3:19 says And Samuel grew, and the Lord was with him, and did let none of his words fall to the ground. Samuel is one of only a few characters in the Bible who is mentioned specifically as growing. I’m impressed with the follow-up thought that the Lord did not let any of his words fall to the ground. I believe that refers to the fact that none of his prophecies were faulty.

However, I think this can also be true for us. As we keep our eyes on Jesus and work to grow our relationship with Him, we will find that He does not ignore our efforts or let them be in vain. Real relationships take work. Our relationship with God is no different. It isn’t a passive thing, but an active step of faith, of obedience, of taking responsibility for our own choices.

In our Christian lives, sedentary living is a choice we too often make unconsciously. It just sort of happens.

I want to become more conscious of my choices. I want to be in control only of giving my control to God. I want to learn to lean so heavily on Him that I dare not face one moment, one conversation, one thought process without His presence near.

Maybe we could say this: Active living allows people to remain unattached to material goods, which can lead to more connectedness, trust in God and those around us, and a healing atmosphere.

Or maybe I’m wrong. That’s OK, too. I just hope you will tell me if that’s the case. We know leading a sedentary lifestyle is dangerous to our physical health, and it’s even more so to our spiritual health because we possess an eternal soul. It might not be fun to hear that I’m wrong, and it may not be fun for you to tell me so, but having that difficult conversation will give both of us a chance to break free from the bonds of sedentary and grow together into a more true relationship, connected through our shared desire to pursue a connection with God.

 

*This is not a book recommendation. I have not yet finished Dinner With King Tut so I have no idea what things may pop up in future chapters. What I can say is that I have enjoyed it so far. It is a mixture of stories about experimental archeology (which some archeologists protest is not archeology at all) and fictional scenarios demonstrating the lifestyles of the historical people who would have used the techniques explored. Read at your own risk if that sounds interesting to you.

Immersion

If you are Southern born and raised like me, you know a little about immersion. I’m talking hot summer days and swimming pools. The feel of water washing over you the first time you go completely under is incredible. You can almost physically feel the cares of the day washing away.

But to get that feeling, you have to give up being dry. You have to not care about your hair. You might end up dealing with a little pain, because everyone knows being in the water can intensify a sunburn. You might experience water in your nose, or ears, or eyes. But for me, the carefree moments in the water have always been worth it.

I’ve been thinking lately about immersion in life. It would be nice to be qualified to talk about this, but my only qualifications, like with so many topics I broach here, probably come from failures.

Immersion is not something that is taught at Teacher’s Prep. At least, it wasn’t years ago when I attended. I wish it had been. But no one tells teachers that part of their job is giving themselves completely to the congregation. No one warns them what it takes to blend in to a new way of doing things and a new youth group.

It’s easy to try to hold a little part of yourself back, to wait for people to reach out to you, first. That’s my nature, anyhow. But immersion means learning how to give. It's such a beautiful thing to watch those who appear to effortlessly become part of a place.

One of the definitions of immersion is “deep mental involvement.” I love immersing myself in a new subject. There have been plenty of them over the years: personality types, camels, ancient architecture, female pilots from the 1910’s-1940’s, medieval life, learning and behavioral disabilities—the list could go on.

But immersion into a congregation is usually a little harder. There have been times when I’ve moved to a new place and consciously held back from the vulnerability of giving myself completely, days I’ve tried to keep a clear line in my mind between me and “them.” Instead of blending, I hold myself apart, keenly aware of the different that is me.

Deep involvement in a place requires more than just mental positioning. It requires heart involvement. It requires getting to know people in a way that allows you to cry with them and laugh with them. It requires letting them know you in the same way. It requires forming connections in the moments of time in which you exist, letting yourself be completely present.

Immersion means becoming part of a type of harmony in which your existence could go completely unnoticed—it doesn’t really matter whether you are there or not. The spaces you leave are easily filled in, and the spaces you fill are filled smoothly if done correctly, with hardly a ripple caused at all.

But here’s the thing: It isn’t just teachers that need to practice immersion. Most people will get a chance to practice it at some point in their lives. The young bride, moving to a new congregation. The youth girl, submitting to the fact that her youth group isn’t as fun as she wishes or starting her first job. The woman who struggles with holding herself apart from the congregation because she feels different. The career girl who suddenly finds herself married with a family, and is trying to accept the un-glamorous reality of being a homemaker. The wife supporting her husband’s position on the schoolboard or trying to figure out what a youth leader’s job actually is. The missionary’s wife, trying to learn a whole new culture.

Sometimes we fail to give ourselves fully because this isn’t what we wanted or imagined it would be. Sometimes we might feel a little rebellious about where we are, grudging to embrace this part of life we didn’t want. In one congregation, I felt bitter because I didn’t even want to be there. But what I have discovered is that if I can submit to God’s plan and Delight myself in the Lord…he will give me the desires of my heart (Psalm 37:4). There was joy waiting for me when I finally reached a place of acceptance. I cried many tears when the time came for me to leave.

It’s so important that I keep my purpose in the forefront of my mind. And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men (Colossians 3:23). It’s easy to start focusing on what I want out of a situation and feel burdened down by the perceived expectation of having to work to please those around me.

But it’s not my work at all. It is God’s work. And I can safely trust Him to take charge. I can leave the details completely in His hands. I am a servant, not a manager.

To let go of my own pride and ideas and allow myself to become part of whatever state I find myself in and therewith to be content (Philippians 4:11), is rarely easy. But as the Psalmist writes, Thou wilt shew me the path of life: in thy presence there is fullness of joy; at thy right hand are pleasures forevermore (Psalm 16:11).

So this is to you, and to me, too. A reminder that immersion is a place of blessing, not regret. That submission is a heart-set, not a natural reaction. That letting God take charge means letting go.

And most of all, a reminder that although the plunge might feel terrifying, you will also discover a joy you’d maybe forgotten existed.

Wishing each one a week of fulfillment!

Versions

I’ve been thinking about how we change as we go through life. What would it be like if we could put all the versions of ourselves together in a room? The 5^th grader, becoming aware of how big life really is, the insecure sixteen-year-old headed to the first youth deal, the person you’ve become as the true weight of life settles on your shoulders.

Following is an excerpt from something I once wrote titled Dear Girl I Used to Know:

 

I don’t know exactly when you disappeared, that girl that made up songs while driving on the Mississippi River levee. The one who hauled a scarecrow along to an organized youth deal… How long has it been since I’ve seen you, the girl who crawled on her belly through the grass to sneak up and fix window clings on car windows? Who sang off key on purpose and at top volume with her friends late at night? The girl who has a sordid history with dummies and toilets in Tennessee.

 

There are days I miss you—the way you laughed so readily, the way you truly believed that all the world was at your fingertips. How you were innocent enough that you were not afraid…of big dreams, of the future…

 

There are days I think of you and smile wistfully. I know I’ve outgrown you—some friendships are like that—but I wouldn’t mind squeezing into a vehicle with you and laughing until my sides ache once in a while.

 

The girl in this letter has long since been replaced. I wonder how many versions of me are left? Is it fair to compare the past versions of me to who I am now?

Too many times I look back and cringe at the younger me. The current me is mortified and impatient with what she sees. The current me wonders how in the world my parents put up with raucous sleepovers and string confetti and girls making up songs at midnight after eating chocolate cake. How did my boss have patience for the things my young coworkers and I put him through? (There was far too liberal a hand when it came to fixing certain stickers to people’s backs and tying tags on apron strings.)

If I think about it long enough, I start wondering how God had patience with me. I did so many things that I shouldn’t have. I stumbled about and made mistakes and had to ask for forgiveness again and again.

Paul speaks in Philippians about forgetting the things of the past. If only it was that easy!

I want to think that things are “one and done.” Somehow I get stuck on the idea that since I was saved at a young age, I ought to have lived a fairly perfect life since then. I ought to be making all the right decisions and know just how to present myself by now. But the truth is, I don’t. I still mess up. I still make mistakes. And let me tell you, my mistakes look pretty big when I compare them (which of course, I shouldn’t) to the tiny mistakes of others. They talk about little things like feeling selfish or being impatient. My sins look much bigger. 

In 2 Peter 1:2, we read that “Grace and peace be multiplied unto you through the knowledge of God, and of Jesus our Lord,” (Go ahead and read verses 3 and 4, too.) This verse gives me a tiny glimpse of hope. Maybe I wasn’t meant to have everything figured out. Maybe if I make choices to continue to know God and His Word and His will for me, there’s hope that I can grow.

And then there’s Philippians 1:6: “Being confident of this very thing, that he which hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ.” This verse helps to bring things into focus. God has begun a work in me. It is not finished. I need to trust His timing.

When I realize I am a project and not even supposed to be perfection like I so often mistakenly believe, things look a little more doable. I am able to give the younger versions of me more room, more grace for the mistakes and poor choices and the bad attitudes. I am able to hold more gently who I once was, and regard that person as beloved of God, not disdained. He has spent so much effort trying to refine me, I must actually mean a lot to Him.

I have a terrible tendency to spend so much time dwelling in the past and worrying about the future that I forget to be present in the moment where I am.

Understanding that I am a work in progress and being OK with the disastrous past and trusting an unknown future into the hands of God, gives me the space to be in the now. I don’t know the “day of Jesus Christ” until which I will be continuing to be sanctified. All I know is that God’s timing will be impeccable. He will not expect me to be a finished vessel months before that day comes. Relaxing into God’s timing for my growth means I can relax into a place of peace and joy. It means doing what I know in the moment and leaving the rest up to Him. It means continuing to find new versions of myself as He continues His good work.

And those other versions of me? The ones from 10 years ago, or 5, or even a year ago? If I could hang out with them, they would remind me of how far I’ve already come. They would probably tell me the progress is greater than I realize. That girl from 18 years ago? She would tell me to breathe easy and laugh freely. It might even be good advice.

And so I say the same to you. Don’t let things from your past dictate your future. Those old things that you’ve already been forgiven for can be rendered helpless to steal the joy of today. Lay your future into the hands of the One who knows how to do the work—it is a good work, remember—that your life needs. Trust that He will perform that work when, where, and how it will be most beneficial for you.

I really think what I’m trying to say here is to trust God. Trust His compassion and understanding for where you’ve come from. Trust His grace for where you are. Trust His love and desire to give you good things in the future.

Trust the process. Change is scary, but there cannot be growth without change. And there’s no one you would rather have working on your vessel than God.