Step 1, Admit:
“For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh. For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out,” (Romans 7:18).
Ironically, I’m trying to manage my relationship with God, His Word and His people, apart from Him. I’ve made it my responsibility to initiate our relationship. Like He’s a television that I’ve got to power on in order to experience the benefits of. If I don’t wake and “stir up the gift” then He won’t draw near to me. But His Word says, “Draw near to me and I will draw near to you,” right? So, isn’t it incumbent upon me to initiate the relationship, first thing in the morning? Perhaps. Surely, the children of Israel, in the wilderness, had to wake up and collect their daily bread before the sun got too hot and the manna melted in their hands. Why wouldn’t it be the same for me? Then again, what’s the manna now? Reading His Word? Prayer? Fasting? Breakfast? I’ve developed a whole routine at this point, and if I miss a part of it, I feel that, somehow, I’ve not been faithful to my relationship with Him and He will, at the moment I nix a process or step, depart and withdraw His Spirit from me. What comes first, then, after all? The chicken or the egg? Isn’t even my pursuit of Him dependent upon Him?
I can’t help but think, then, that knowing is a problem. As is listening to other people’s advice. I’ve got all these thoughts pinging around in my mind: suggestions, admonishments, opinions, sermons, aphorisms, experiences, advertisements, rebukes. They all color my idea of what “management” is and how it ought to be done. I’m managing management. How hilarious. But that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’m managing the management of my relationship with God. Meta-management, because I don’t know how to yield. Because I’m too keen on “knowing” and always pursuing more of it, instead of resting in the grace of God.
I “know” that I ought to pray, but how? I’ve heard a thousand utterances of advice on how to and not to pray. I validate those experiences that I can relate to and feel guilty about the ones I cannot. Some preachers lay on their faces six hours in the closet, their faces strewn with warm tears as they supplicate and intercede for the saints, the church, the lost. Then there are those who worship while in the way, whispering in the “mobile worship unit” or while waiting in line at Ashtaroth’s coffee shop. But maybe even that doesn’t matter anymore, the seed of the tree. Grace, right? There is nothing unclean in itself, if it is received with thanksgiving, for God made all things to be enjoyed. It’s just coffee. Like, it’s just a daily horoscope. Like, it’s just a get together. Like, it’s just a deck of cards. Like, it’s just a Ouija board. Like, it’s just a séance. Like, it’s just satanism. A slippery slope, agreement is.
But that’s exactly what I mean: discipline. Bible reading for how long? Booker T. Washington read a chapter a day. I wonder how long it took him to read that chapter. Sometimes I’ll read an entire epistle, sitting on the toilet. Too much, too fast? How oft should I fast? Water only, Daniel or dry? What worship music is most anointed? No AI stuff, of course, right? Until tears? Until I don’t feel it anymore? Or until my wife comes in the room and I become embarrassed?
And don’t get me started on His people. They’re fully sixty percent of my problem, this unfaithful bride of Christ. They are a mirror for myself, clearly, exposing my own whorishness. And yet, everyone is so certain and spouting their own opines, confusing everybody. Let there be no divisions among you, and yet, we have nothing but divisions among us. How many denominations are there, again? I know people more committed to the denomination than to Christ. Don’t like my interpretation?
“Well then, let’s go to the Greek.”
“Or the Hebrew.”
“But wait, don’t forget the context.”
“I don’t think you’re seeing that quite properly, brother.”
“Aren’t you a racist?”
“Weren’t you born a bastard out of wedlock?”
“Were you not poor as a child?”
“Weren’t you raised Pentecostal?”
“Surely, you are bringing too many inaccurate presuppositions to the scriptures and are compromised in your understanding. Only listen to me and I will supply you with the proper interpretation.”
My God, the whole church has become a giant rebuttal, every preacher a polemicist, called by God to correct the errors of the one who says he is called by God. Who can understand his errors?! Cleanse thou me from secret faults, Lord, because I judge your people, I do. They be on my nerves. They can’t make hide nor hair in private of what they are dead certain of in public. What can I depend on them for, but fellowship? Even Christ forsook allegiances with them, “for he knew what was in man.” Well, so do I. Because the same is in me.
So, what am I trying to manage apart from God, His Word, and His people? My mind. These incessant and intrusive thoughts and prodding expectations that turn to threats when I don’t engage them.
My old AA sponsor, Keith Hill (Happy New Day, Keith, wherever you are!) used to say, “It was my stinkin’ thinkin’!”
And there it is. That’s what I’m fighting to manage: My stinkin’ thinkin’. I’m existing in survival mode, too terrified to let my fears fall into my heart and be comforted by Jesus’ afflictions and affections.
“My yoke is easy,” He says. “My burden is light.”
Oh, to know such an ease! Oh, to live such a lightness!
theblackdostoyevsky 
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