theblackdostoyevsky

What’s something you’ve done that your past self would be proud of?

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I’m in a hard place right now. I’m uncertain of everything beyond this moment and, day-by-day, I’m finding myself less and less in control of my family’s survival. There’s a hole in this boat, and we’re looking up at heaven while the children splash in the deepening puddles.

In moments like these, it’s difficult to be proud of anything that I’ve done, because every choice I’ve ever made has led me to where I am now. Certainly, I have hope, but that does not make my desired end certain. My hope is not God’s hope. My hope tends more towards security and comfort. His hope, judging from His Word, is to have His son formed in me. His son was not formed by security or comfort. His son suffered greatly, was a man acquainted with grief, was despised and rejected of men, was contradicted at every turn by sinners, was plotted against, slandered and, ultimately, murdered by his own. And the disciple who is perfect will be as His master. Yes, I have hope, but I’m terrified of His hope. His hope makes sorrow and suffering my companions. My hope includes a business that runs itself and truckloads of passive cash.

I’m reading Job. I was compelled to read it from the start of the year, so I read through it once, bought a commentary, then shelved the process until life as I knew it started to fall apart. I plugged holes best I could, but all the corks slipped through into the water, and as water continued to flood in, I remembered that I was supposed to be reading Job. Job was a perfect and upright man, fearing God and eschewing evil. That’s not my testimony. But in Christ, I’m a new creature, and His righteousness is imputed to me, by grace, through faith in His redemption. There’s a lot of theology in that sentence that folks have written scores of books about, but suffice it to say that I believe that God loved sinners enough to save them at any cost, and He paid it. I believe that. Every day, my daily bread and work is to believe in it, and in Him, more.

And yet, that is not something I can be proud of. I didn’t save myself. Every decision I’ve made to this point in my life was aimed at saving myself. Obeying my parents. Studying hard in school. Fearing authority. Going to college. Graduating. Going to graduate school. Setting myself on a career path. Getting married. Financing a house. Having children. Even my bad habits were chosen with the intention of saving myself. I didn’t start drinking with the aim of becoming an alcoholic. I started drinking to saw the edges off of the daily grind. I didn’t start smoking to get cancer or become a pothead, but I enjoyed the combined pleasure of drinking and smoking. It felt like earned leisure after a hard day’s labor. Problem was I enjoyed it too much. I started putting the pleasure before the business. That pleasure gave rise to intense lust, and lust is never satisfied. But I chased her. And the more I chased her the more she demanded, until I found myself surrounded by blackened waters in the midst of a hurricane, begging God to spare my life. I didn’t save myself.

The pride I have today is not in anything I’ve done, but it’s in what God has done for me, what he did for me long before I was ever born, effected after I could discern His call. Please, in the day of your visitation, harden not your heart. God knows how to speak with those He has made, make no mistake. We have all heard from Him; we all do not yield when we hear. For a long time, I didn’t either. But He kept visiting. He kept calling. He was relentless. And He forgave me of sins unforgiveable, intentional, premeditated. When I finally relented, He taught me the truth, and righteousness, and wisdom, and peace, and salvation. He taught me, not abstractly or theoretically, but practically, through a person, His son, Jesus, whose words and ways we have access to, who spiritually, we can channel and have relationship with by His Holy Spirit.

Relatively speaking, I’m rich. I’ve got a beautiful, healthy family. I’ve got a roof and walls, clothing, and food in the pantry. I’ve got two running vehicles. I’ve got an electric kettle to warm up coffee water. I’ve got a few dollars saved up. But like Job, I understand that all it takes is an instant for everything to be washed away. For me, today, the tide is rising. The moon is full. The water is at my ankles, and I’m fearful that it will rise to my knees. And if it reaches my knees, I’m fearful that it will rise to my waist. And if it reaches my waist, I’m hoping it won’t rise to my chest. And if reaches my chest, I’m praying it won’t rise to my neck. And if it reaches my neck, I’m pleading it won’t rise to my nose. And if it reaches my nose, I’m desperate for His billows not to cover us over completely, that we be lost to the deep.

But even if His waves do, if that be His plan and purpose, if that be His will, I’ve done nothing to deserve all that He has given to me. I’ve done nothing, while lost, to earn His gracious call. I’ve done nothing to gain or maintain the blessings He has placed in my hand. I did not gift myself intellect. I did not admit myself to university. I did not offer myself any job. I did not give myself life, nor a wife, nor children. I can be proud, in myself, of nothing I have done, for all that I have was given. And if He see fit to take it all away in a breath, “Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him.”

Only pray, Lord, that I suffer long in that truth. Your word is truth.