Lately, I’ve been doing a pretty pitiful job of trying to learn anything. Am I lazy? Yes. My scripture reading and prayer habits have been horrendously lacking. But yet, God, being sovereign over all things, manages to teach me some stuff anyway. Here are some lessons learned from my recent circumstances.
Our dog is stubborn. He hates his crate. His crate exists for his own good, so that he (and our house in general) will be safe while we are out of the house. Right now, the crate we have for him is huge and has everything he likes and wants in it. It has his bed. His food. His toys (yes, all 6 of them). And as soon as he goes in it, he will receive treats. So really, everything Tolkien needs for life and happiness is in this crate. But yet, when I want him to go in it, he looks in longingly, whimpers a bit, and then lays down outside the crate, resistant. Maybe it’s a power struggle thing. Maybe he just doesn’t like being confined. At any rate, Tolkien, in his stubbornness, will not go to the one place where he would be safe, well fed, and surrounded by chicken-flavored Nylabones and fuzzy toys that squeak. He would rather be hungry and toyless on the outside than be obedient.
I am like Tolkien.
Inside of God’s will, there is joy and peace and safety. There is comfort and warmth. In obedience, there is everything I need for life and happiness. But I would rather turn from God’s will, stubborn and resistant, and go my own way. There is no peace in my own way. There is no safety. But there is something so disagreeable about admitting that I don’t know everything and that God does that I stay on the outside. God’s will is for my good. God says “I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” But I’m like a stubborn dog who won’t go in the crate.
There’s another side to the crate story. Yesterday, Diane and I figured out that Tolkien can do “shake”. Maybe it’s more appropriate to say that yesterday Tolkien figured out that for some reason, if he lifts his paw at a certain time, we will shower him with treats. That’s probably more accurate. Last night when I was throwing treats in Tolkien’s crate to coax him in, he looked up at me, sat down, and did “shake” instead. This happened several times, as if he was saying, “Okay, so I’m not going in that crate. But I can do this nifty trick instead! Do I get the treat?” It doesn’t work that way. I don’t want nifty tricks. I want obedience.
Do I do this as a Christian? My goodness, yes. God asks me to obey in an area. Maybe he wants me to call someone I really don’t like and ask them if they want to hang out. Maybe he wants me to talk to the scary looking homeless person on the corner. At any rate, I don’t want to do it. So I say, “Okay, God, I won’t do that. But I can read my Bible for an hour instead! Or, I could give some money to this missionary! That’s pretty good, isn’t it?”
God doesn’t want “good”. God wants obedience.
Okay, last one. I promise.
Yesterday I was working on a SWEAT Team project with Dave Ferree and a few others. Some SWEAT Team projects are fun. You get to build a wheelchair ramp or something cool like that and you feel all proud of yourself. Yesterday’s project was not one of those. Yesterday, we were cleaning out an abandoned trailer for a guy with health problems who wants to move into it. When I say abandoned, I mean that the people who had been living there had just run out and left everything behind. Food. Dirty clothes. Underwear. Six TVs (I have no idea). The place was completely trashed. The other SWEAT Team guys were outside with weed whackers working on the ridiculously overgrown yard while I worked on cleaning up the inside. It was disgusting. It smelled horrendous. There were bread bags with bread still in them, black with mold. Soda cans that had spilled all over, leaving papers and food stuck to the floor in a smelly goo. A layer of rat dung covered everything. I picked up one layer of grossness just to find more underneath. After spending the morning there, I had just scratched the surface of the mess and was in terrible need of a shower. As I was cleaning it up, I had two questions:
How could anyone live like this?
Why does anyone want to move in here?
Really, it probably would just be easier to light the thing on fire and let it burn. But then I thought…
This is my heart.
My heart is disgusting. A filthy mess of greed and selfishness and disregard for my fellow man. There is layer upon layer of the soul’s version of wretched decay. And yet, there is one who wants to abide there. God speaks of us being His temple, of Him coming and dwelling in us. And God is holy! We are talking about God, holy and good, coming and dwelling in the filthy, rat infested grossness of my heart. And He cleans it up. Slowly. Sometimes painfully. If I had taken a toothbrush and scrubbed every last cranny in that trailer, it would not match the fervor and dedication God shows in purifying my own heart. And this is His desire. To come dwell in me, in us. I don’t really understand that. Except that I guess it brings more glory to Him to clean us up than to let us burn. He is in the business of saving. Of redeeming.
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