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Remember when Jesus told his disciples to give the hungry crowd something to eat? There were thousands of them and the disciples had nothing to give. They were still learning that when Christ gives his followers a job he is certainly able to make it happen. I’m learning the same thing. What Christ has called us to seems, at times, impossible. That’s probably because I’m in the habit of spending more time focused on the job than the One who has called us to it. Christ is multiplying the work and showing me that there will be plenty left over. Fear and worry are not a part of the job description. I am called to do the work in faith. I can leave the results up to him. Here are two stories from the month of February.

Spirit of the living God, be the Gardener of my soul. For so long I have been waiting, silent and still — experiencing a winter of the soul. But now, in the strong name of Jesus Christ, I dare to ask:

Clear away the dead growth of the past,

Break up the hard clods of custom and routine,

Stir in the rich compost of vision and challenge,

Bury deep in my soul the implanted Word,

Cultivate and water and tend my heart,

Until new life buds and opens and flowers

Amen.

- Richard Foster, Prayers from the Heart, p. 3.

Bruce talked about 2 Corinthians 5 this morning. It wasn’t the focal point of his message, but he talked about how we are compelled by the love of Christ. Verse 14 says Christ’s love compels us . . .

Geez. Why am I not compelled by Christ’s love? I’m compelled by lots of stuff: hunger, tiredness, pride, fear, approval, disappointment, frustration, etc.

John Ortberg writes:

I am disappointed with myself. I am disappointed not so much with particular things I have done as with aspects of who I have become. I have a nagging sense that all is not as it should be.

Some of the disappointment is trivial, but some of it runs deeper. When I look on my children as they sleep at night, I think of the kind of father I want to be. I want to create moments of magic, I want them to remember laughing until the tears flow, I wan tot read to them and make the books come alive so they love to read, I wan to have slow sweet talks with them as they’re getting ready to close their eyes, I was to sing them awake in the morning. I want to chase fireflies with them, teach them to play tennis, have food fights, and hold them and pray for them in a way that makes them feel cherished.

I look in on them as they sleep at night, and I remember how the day really went: I remember how they were trapped in a fight over checkers and I walked out of the room because I didn’t want to spend the energy needed to teach them how to resolve conflict. I remember how my daughter spilled cherry punch at dinner and I yelled at her about being careful as if she’d revealed some deep character flaw; I yelled at her even though I spill things all the time and no one yells at me; I yelled at her — to tell the truth — simply because I’m big and she’s little and I can get away with it. And then I saw that look of hurt and confusion in her eyes, and I knew there was a tiny wound on her heart that I had put there, and I wished I could have taken those sixty seconds back. I remember how at night I didn’t have slow, sweet talks, but merely rushed the children to bed so I could have more time to myself. I’m disappointed. (John Ortberg, The Life You’ve Always Wanted. p. 13. )

I often feel that way. But, thanks to Jesus, I am changing. I am becoming, more and more, the kind of person I was meant to be.

Jesus lived in this broken, painful world, learning obedience, through the things that he suffered, tempted in all the ways we are, and yet remaining without sin. We are, to be sure, reconciled by God by Jesus’ death, but even more, we are “saved” by his life (Rom. 5.10) — saved in the sense of entering into his eternal kind of life, not just in some distant heaven but right now in the midst of our broken and sorrowful world. When we carefully consider how Jesus lived while among us in the flesh, we learn how we are to live — truly live – empowered by him who is with us always even to the end of the age. We then begin an intentional imitation of Christ, not in some slavish or literal fashion, but by catching the spirit and power in which he lived and by learning to walk in his steps.

- Richard Foster, Streams of Living Water. Pg. 1.

I am, O God, a jumbled mass of motives.
One moment I am adoring you, and the next I am shaking my fist at you.
I vacillate between mounting hope, and deepening despair.
I am full of faith and full of doubt.
I want the best for others and am jealous when they get it.
Even so, God, I will not run from your presence. Nor will I pretend to be what I am not. Thank you for accepting me with all my contradictions.Amen.

- Richard Foster, Prayers of the Heart. p. 4.

Today the heart of God is an open wound of love. He aches over our distance and preoccupation. He mourns that we do not draw near to him. He grieves that we have forgotten him. He weeps over our obsession with muchness and manyness. He longs for our presence.

And he is inviting you – and me – to come home, to come home to where we belong, to come home to that for which we were created. His arms are stretched out wide to receive us. His heart is enlarged to take us in.

- Richard Foster, Prayer. Ch. 1

“The Life You’ve Always Wanted” by John Ortberg is another one of those life-changing books for me. I’m reading parts of it again and God is using it again re-center me.

He says that his life changed completely when he realized that it wasn’t about ‘trying’ to be a good person or ‘trying’ to do the right thing. We can never do it on our own, by our own will-power. We’re not ‘trying’ . . . we’re ‘training’. We’re doing things to put ourselves in a position to be more and more the person Jesus is shaping us to be.

We can do this! It’s not as daunting as we’ve made it out to be! Are we becoming the person God created us to be? That’s what matters. Are we being transformed by Jesus? That’s the important thing. NOT “Was I a good Christian today?”