As God is taking his wire brush to my innards, breaking loose a lot of the accumulated crud and gunk clogging up the works, I’m actually starting to realize a few things.¬† One, he’s got a lot of work to do in there.¬† It’s like the barbecue grill you forgot to clean after the last big cookout of the season last Fall, and so it’s just been sitting there all winter.¬† Now when you crack open the lid for the first big cookout of this Spring…ewwwwww.¬† Lot’s of mouldering gyeck and rust and spiderwebs and who knows what else that dripped down onto those little fake briquets on the bottom, congealing into something resembling a twisted science experiment that escaped from an evil scientist’s lab.
Yep, that pretty much sums up my soul right now.
Secondly, perhaps the single most illuminating¬†(and disturbing) thing that I’ve realized is that I am resenting God.¬† Wha..?¬†¬† Yup.¬† I am deep in the throes of a full-blown, resentful, pouty-lipped, widdle foot-stomping spiritual temper tantrum.¬† Probably have been for quite some time.
I’m pretty sure this isn’t what Jesus meant when He said we should become like little children in order to enter His Kingdom.
I find that I am resentful of Him forcing me to give up all my worldly pleasures and distractions.¬† I resent being told "No."¬† I resent not getting to do things my way, when I want, how I want.¬† I resent being forced to stay and work on my marriage rather than being allowed to follow the path of so many today and harry off on some mid-life crisis to "find myself" and pretend I’m some carefree 20-something with nothing to worry about but ME, ME, MEEE!¬†
I’m like some petulant teenager who just can’t understaaaaaand why she can’t go to the Nine Inch Nails concert with her 23 year old "friend."¬† But I WANT to!
And figure that should be enough, right?¬†
Sometimes, to be honest, I feel like stomping up the stairs, screaming "I HATE YOU!!!" at the top of my lungs, and slam my bedroom door with all the fury contained in my martyred and misunderstood little arms.
Forgetting, of course, that I stomped up the stairs of the home my parents have provided for me, to slam the door of the room they filled with furniture, and throw myself on my bed and listen to the Ipod they bought me, as I bemoan how they just never let me do anything, and they don’t really love me, or they’d let me do what I WANT."
Sound familiar, at all?¬† How like children we must be in God’s eyes!
We are like those oh-so-worldly teenagers that we all know, and many have raised,¬†those wizened old philosophers and sages who¬†have the world figured out at 17, and with much rolling of eyes and dramatic sighs we wish our geeky, clueless parents would just get out of our way and let us do what we KNOW is right.¬† Or at least what feels good.¬† Or what our friends tell us is "cool."¬† Or any combination of the three.
Only to discover, some ten years later, as we watch our own little crumb snatchers get all demanding and pissy when they can’t have what they want, when they want, and that would be RIGHT N-O-W!!¬†just¬†how much smarter our parents have suddenly become.
God is revealing to me one of the fundamental flaws of my character, and I am struggling to face all of the potential ramifications of it.¬† Despite a lifetime of faith, despite years of devout worship, study, and what I felt to be "devotion," I’m still really just as much of a drama queen in many ways as anyone else in the world.
Despite "knowing" what God wants, I "kick against the goads," fighting against God’s sovereignty, rationalizing, justifying, cajoling and bargaining in order to keep on doing this or that "one little thing."¬† Problem is, God wants it all.¬† Heart, mind and soul.
It’s time to grow up, man up, and stop demanding that God see it MY way.
Because, despite of¬†all I may want to convince myself, or however much¬†I may try to hide from it, the simple reality¬†is…yeah, He really IS the boss of me.¬†
He formed me in the womb, knew me before I was born, and created me for a purpose.¬† He is infinite in His wisdom, and like that wise and worldy parent, knows the dangers of rock concerts with over-age boyfriends and the many other dangers facing us out there in the world, dangers of which we are undoubtedly blissfully unaware.¬† We need, I need to trust Him, to know that He has¬†a perfect plan for my life, and that the more I fight it, the only person I’m really making it hard on is myself.
I think this poster sums it up nicely: