Recently I went on a walk through a beautiful park. It was almost a spring day … chilly, but still warm enough to skip the jacket. The trees were still bare, the flowers still asleep, and the air still a little crisp.
At one point, there was an overlook which provided a lovely view of the marsh and the river in the distance. The contrast between the tall yellow grass of the marsh and the beautiful blue of the water beyond was stunning.
I loved the view.
But when I glanced down, I found that the view close up was rather unappealing. It was muddy, dirty looking water full of branches and old, wet grass.
And it struck me that from this one vantage point there were two decidedly different views. And how, in my life, there are definitely two views offered … two views ahead of me.
I can look at what is right before me and the view is kind of disappointing, definitely a bit muddy, and far from the view I was hoping to have. While taking in the scenery of this view, I can only see the situations I find myself in—the difficulties, challenges, and disappointments. I don’t seem able to see beyond the troubles of the day. And, oh boy, are there a lot of those I can see from this vantage point.
BUT, if I can lift my eyes, even just a bit, I can see beauty in the beyond. Beyond my circumstances. Beyond my setbacks. Beyond my troubles. Beyond my exhaustion. Beyond my disappointments.
It, apparently, is the lesson of my life. The lesson I must continually learn.
If my view is only of my circumstances, they will overwhelm me.
If my view is of my Savior, He will overwhelm me.
I guess I have to decide what I want to be overwhelmed by … been saying this forever. When am I going to get my rear in gear and live as I know I should?
Part of the problem is that I make choices that aren’t great. I’m not talking about decisions—all those life decision I need to make—I’m talking about choices each day.
I choose to worry when I just need to wait.
I choose fear over faith.
I choose to seek comfort apart from God.
I choose to disobey, when I need to (I must) obey.
I choose to question instead of trust.
I choose the struggle instead of the peace.
I choose it all instead of Jesus.
“But now in Christ Jesus you who once were formerly far away have been brought near by the blood of Christ. For he is our peace, who has made both groups one and has broken down the barrier of the dividing wall, by abolishing in His flesh the enmity, that is, the law of the commandments contained in ordinances, that in Himself He might make the two into one new man, thus making peace, and that He might reconcile both to God into one body through the cross, thereby slaying the enmity. And he came and preached peace to you who were far away and peace to those who were near” (Eph. 2:13-17).
I choose the things of this world—the things right in front of me—and somehow expect them to heal my broken heart, to fill the empty spaces, to comfort me completely.
Nothing does, but Jesus.
I’ve said it before, but in some ways, I almost want to go back to the place when everything fell apart. When everything was truly out of my hands … when all I could do was rely on God.
Since then I’ve been under the false impression that there are things in my control … that some things need me … that I can rely on myself … good golly! That is so not true.
I no longer want to be in control of my life—it’s too stressful. I want to let God have it all—so why don’t I?
Because for some silly reason I continually think this little thing … this thing before me … this one thing I can handle. I can handle this thing. No worries.
Thanks God … but I got this.
Ahhhh … why do I insist on this silly way of living?
Does anyone else have this struggle? This insistence on self-reliance?