Wednesday, November 9, 2011

You Can't Let Go On Your Own

These things that we've done, the things we're doing, we're not doing them to try to be anything. We didn't wake up one morning with the sun in our eyes and say, "Hey, let's stop thinking so much about money. Let's just decide that we believe our money doesn't really belong to us. Let's fill up our own little heads with the truth about poverty and loneliness and orphans and people right on the verge."

We aren't trying to make it into a newspaper article or impress the people around town or you. We're not trying to impress God.

We don't feel adequate. We don't get things right all the time. We get grumpy and too easily frustrated. My heart breaks for children with no home and no hope and then I yell at mine, I ignore my own because I just can't take it anymore and it rolls over like a smoke cloud, "Who do I think I am? I'm no poster child."

But then the smoke clears and I know this truth - I know that I prayed for a changed heart and it's being given, in small pieces, one chamber at a time. It doesn't mean that I'm perfect or all-wise or that I wear a perpetual smile. I don't. I'm not.

Isn't that the biggest, wildest beauty of it all?

The beauty is that God can turn us right around at a moment's notice. He can shove us out of our Anthro daydreams, beyond our decorating magazine pipe dreams, and push us into the glare of everything else, everything that we were always too busy to notice before. He can make our hearts break a million times in a million ways. He can make us start to wonder about wells. And he can do it all without you or me.

He swept me off my feet, left me dizzy as He yanked control right out from under me. He knows I'm not ready. He knows I'm not able. I'm not capable or nice enough. I'm still selfish and greedy. And He chooses to use me anyway. He doesn't need a poster child. He doesn't need me at all.

But He'll take me, yes He will.

He'll light a spark of willingness in my spirit and tune my strings to the keys of brokenness and grace.

I'll find myself in mundane moments noticing almost for the first time that this isn't who I always was. I didn't care so much, before. And now, here it is. I cry into my salsa bowl at lunch when I read posts like this, my Asian baby shouting jibberish hymns down the Brady-bunch hall when he should be sleeping. This is my life, and I didn't make it so.

All of this grace, all these gifts, every kind of lavishing. My husband, my children, my quirky rental home, my job loss, the pay cuts, the medical bills stacking to the sky, the dented van, the achy heart, the slivers of sadness, the ribbons of bright joy. I deserved none.

I don't exceed expectations and I don't even meet them. I'm a constant, daily "requires some improvement", and still, the gifts.

So all I want to do is give it back. In all my imperfect, sassy-girl, prideful, selfish woundedness, I give in the only way possible - through the One who heard my prayer and answered it. He makes me want to care more, shrink more, thank more. And that's as big a miracle as these brown eyes ever need to see.

*For the rest of the Letting Go series, click here.

Well Update:

We're at $2,673.

27% of our goal.


Don't lose steam now. Join us in obedience to the command to meet the needs of the poor. Every little bit helps get us to our goal.

Click the button below to link to the FPFG fundraising page. And feel free to share it on your blog, Facebook or Twitter. (code found in my sidebar)