At the time I started writing this post, my seven-month-old son was crying on the floor. He is so very, very close to being able to roll over by himself. If he's on his back, he can -- with some coaxing -- successfully get to his belly. Going the other way is another matter. He just can't yet manage that final push. To be fair, we live in an old house with lots of uneven flooring, so some of his attempts at rolling over are literally uphill. Which is completely unfair. As is, I suppose, using your son's disadvantages as the impetus for a blog post. But he's the son of a pastor/writer, so that's just part of the contract.
Through this new lens of fatherhood, I am gaining unique insights into God's love for me that I naively thought I understood all along. For instance, in the midst of my undergrad, I wrote the following lyric for one of my band's songs:
Failures are the lasting lessons
I’ve got so much left to learn
I’ll crawl so I can walk, skin my knees and my pride
But never forget to smile
Chewing on the trials
The imagery I was after (nearly 10 years ago now) was exactly the phase of life my son is currently entering: the emerging independence of a human personality that is at once so confident and so determined, and yet so very incapable. Zeke, like all human beings, must learn by bumping his head, by taking those intrepid first steps and falling down. We learn by struggling. The progression from a diet of milk to one of solid food is necessarily gradual.
Watching it literally happen in front of me, I now have a much better context for understanding the care and perseverance of our Heavenly Father. God labors to teach us the way I labor to teach my son: He could very well step in and fix everything for us, yet He lovingly allows us the opportunity to struggle, to learn, and to worship Him all the more for it. Sometimes, Zeke needs me to step in and give him a push. Other times, it's better for me to wait, so he can push himself just a little harder. He doesn't always appreciate it when I opt for the latter.
But then again, neither do I when God does the same thing to me.
In the midst of each spiritual battle and God-ordained challenge, Christians face a choice: either embrace the opportunity the adversity represents in order to trust God more and grow in our faith, or instead adopt a shortsighted, embittered preoccupation with trying to eliminate as much difficulty in our lives as possible, complaining all the while. The sad thing is that, when we take the latter course of action, we miss the opportunity for true joy.
In our Wikipedia/YouTube culture -- where answers and solutions should never be more than one click away -- endurance is a concept that needs revisiting. Even for Christians, it's easy to become discouraged when facing the same sin struggle day after day, or having to forgive someone for the 489th time. We might be tempted to want the same type of immediate gratification our world craves. It is an immaturity -- not unlike my son whining with one arm tucked helplessly under his side -- that demands immediate solutions. On the other hand, it is absolutely NOT immaturity for us to cry out to the Father for help, provided we begin learning to ask the right things from the right heart attitude.
The Apostle Paul penned some pretty famous words in his epistle to the Philippians, words that are often stripped of their rich meaning. Speaking of his own challenges with regard to sharing the gospel, he wrote, "I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me." (Phil 4.12-13) And that, Paul says, is connected to the ability to know true joy -- to endure hardship and be closer to God for the struggle. The ability to "do all things" is not some promise of superpowers. The power that Paul speaks of is the power that God abundantly supplies in the gospel of Jesus Christ and the presence of the Holy Spirit. It is a power that, ironically, requires us to be dependent upon God. It is a power that is only accessible via weakness.
The "secret" of facing plenty, hunger, abundance, and need is through HIM.
That's why our skinned knees are so valuable. They shouldn't just teach us practical lessons about how to do it better next time. They should teach us to lean into a source of power that is beyond our limited abilities -- one that is best expressed in our weakness. If we are willing to focus on the One who never fails, who never changes, and who never requires us to do anything He won't lead us through, suddenly our spiritual growth is not an insurmountable mountain or a life of isolation and drudgery. It is a walk with God.
I love to walk with Zeke -- for the time being, with him in my arms, or in the stroller, or strapped to my chest. Sometimes with him upside-down over my shoulder. The type of delight I feel when he smiles or learns something new is a taste of the type of delight our Heavenly Father takes in my daily dependence on Him. And the reality is that, once Zeke masters this whole rolling over thing, there will be another challenge for him to face. And another one. Likewise, our spiritual growth isn't about one day or even one year. It is a lifelong process. My hope for Zeke is that, as he matures, he learns not to whine or complain, but to ask for help, and to trust in the wisdom and care his Mama and I can provide. An even greater thing is true of each Christian's walk with God, because God is not only worthy of our trust, He is worthy of our worship. The adoration we must give Him is not because He craves it or is incomplete without us: we give it because no other is worthy of receiving it.
We would therefore do well to stop relying on ourselves, cease our complaining spirits, and instead cry out to God daily for help with every challenge we face. Spiritual maturity is not (contrary to popular opinion) independence and theological intellect, but rather learning to more fully depend on the transforming grace that God abundantly supplies.
Watching it literally happen in front of me, I now have a much better context for understanding the care and perseverance of our Heavenly Father. God labors to teach us the way I labor to teach my son: He could very well step in and fix everything for us, yet He lovingly allows us the opportunity to struggle, to learn, and to worship Him all the more for it. Sometimes, Zeke needs me to step in and give him a push. Other times, it's better for me to wait, so he can push himself just a little harder. He doesn't always appreciate it when I opt for the latter.
But then again, neither do I when God does the same thing to me.
In the midst of each spiritual battle and God-ordained challenge, Christians face a choice: either embrace the opportunity the adversity represents in order to trust God more and grow in our faith, or instead adopt a shortsighted, embittered preoccupation with trying to eliminate as much difficulty in our lives as possible, complaining all the while. The sad thing is that, when we take the latter course of action, we miss the opportunity for true joy.
In our Wikipedia/YouTube culture -- where answers and solutions should never be more than one click away -- endurance is a concept that needs revisiting. Even for Christians, it's easy to become discouraged when facing the same sin struggle day after day, or having to forgive someone for the 489th time. We might be tempted to want the same type of immediate gratification our world craves. It is an immaturity -- not unlike my son whining with one arm tucked helplessly under his side -- that demands immediate solutions. On the other hand, it is absolutely NOT immaturity for us to cry out to the Father for help, provided we begin learning to ask the right things from the right heart attitude.
The Apostle Paul penned some pretty famous words in his epistle to the Philippians, words that are often stripped of their rich meaning. Speaking of his own challenges with regard to sharing the gospel, he wrote, "I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me." (Phil 4.12-13) And that, Paul says, is connected to the ability to know true joy -- to endure hardship and be closer to God for the struggle. The ability to "do all things" is not some promise of superpowers. The power that Paul speaks of is the power that God abundantly supplies in the gospel of Jesus Christ and the presence of the Holy Spirit. It is a power that, ironically, requires us to be dependent upon God. It is a power that is only accessible via weakness.
The "secret" of facing plenty, hunger, abundance, and need is through HIM.
That's why our skinned knees are so valuable. They shouldn't just teach us practical lessons about how to do it better next time. They should teach us to lean into a source of power that is beyond our limited abilities -- one that is best expressed in our weakness. If we are willing to focus on the One who never fails, who never changes, and who never requires us to do anything He won't lead us through, suddenly our spiritual growth is not an insurmountable mountain or a life of isolation and drudgery. It is a walk with God.
I love to walk with Zeke -- for the time being, with him in my arms, or in the stroller, or strapped to my chest. Sometimes with him upside-down over my shoulder. The type of delight I feel when he smiles or learns something new is a taste of the type of delight our Heavenly Father takes in my daily dependence on Him. And the reality is that, once Zeke masters this whole rolling over thing, there will be another challenge for him to face. And another one. Likewise, our spiritual growth isn't about one day or even one year. It is a lifelong process. My hope for Zeke is that, as he matures, he learns not to whine or complain, but to ask for help, and to trust in the wisdom and care his Mama and I can provide. An even greater thing is true of each Christian's walk with God, because God is not only worthy of our trust, He is worthy of our worship. The adoration we must give Him is not because He craves it or is incomplete without us: we give it because no other is worthy of receiving it.
We would therefore do well to stop relying on ourselves, cease our complaining spirits, and instead cry out to God daily for help with every challenge we face. Spiritual maturity is not (contrary to popular opinion) independence and theological intellect, but rather learning to more fully depend on the transforming grace that God abundantly supplies.