Its time to write again.
Although I'm far unpracticed; although I may have nothing interesting to say; although--dispite the vast expanse of this interweb connection--I may only maybe have one person ever view this page...it's time to put myself out there.
Its time to write again. If this post isn't for you, maybe its just for me. And that's fine, because at least I'm writing.
These past few months I've found myself hungrily digging into random crevices of webspace to find a Christian opinion on career, calling, or relationships that I haven't heard before. Most of what I've come up with is the same recycled considerations; something like "A purposeful life in 6 steps," including the oft-quoted "wait on the Lord" and "don't settle for less" bit. You know the type: present a checklist of the ideal job/family/husband, and how to do more than twiddle your thumbs as you wait for life to be changed for the better. Timeless truths, to be sure, but nothing that speaks afresh to my situation, or the wrestling of some dear brothers and sisters beside whom I am currently walking. So I'm sitting down today to write my own article. I will call it...
When you walk away from something Good.
Millennial Christian conversation takes up a lot of space describing that Good Thing (whatever it is in your case). We dream about it, plan it out, encourage each other to run for it and not give up. We know God is with us in the pursuit and He will finally deliver it because its part of His plan for us. We love to learn how to hear His voice so we can learn where to find IT, the Good Thing. I believe this vehement pursuit is what fills the life of us 20-somethings with passion and energy, and it's not bad. But what do you do when you find it, submit it for God's blessing, and then realize it's time to walk away?
I see this in the lives of several around me right now. What's that Good Thing for you? It could be a degree or career path that promised to be the key to fulfillment and joy, or the comfort of everything familiar and safe. Maybe it's the loving community that supported and strengthened you in your most difficult moments. Family, gained by marriage, birth, or choice; unbreakable bonds that must now be stretched over distance or time, or cut until eternity comes to bind it again.
Whatever it is, this seems God-ordained. Something celebrated. Something apparently bearing fruit. You prayed over it; you have peace. Plans are laid. And then all of a sudden God says No.
It seems so unfair, right? Almost twisted and wrong. God, if you gave me this wonderful gift, why would you take it away? Does God change His mind? Is He double-minded? Does He lie?
No, no, and never. God does not lie (Titus 1:2 and Hebrews 6:18) James 1:17 says He does not change like shifting shadows. Scripture is full of testimony that God lays plans that cannot be thwarted. His Word accomplishes His purposes. Nothing He binds can be undone. So did I mishear? Was I somehow deceived? God gives the Holy Spirit to those who ask. He is a good Father who gives good gifts to His children. He illuminates the paths of the righteous, He gives direction to those who humbly seek His face. If I pray consistently, if I am humble and seeking to do right by Him and others, if I listen to His voice and have repented from all conscious sin, then I can continue in what I think is the best route and reasonably trust that God will give me direction. So what do we do with the times that God seems to say "yes," and then clearly says "no?"
If God didn't lie, and you didn't make a mistake, there's only one conclusion: the good thing was God's will, but only for a season. God has the freedom to tell you Yes one day and No the next, and He's still looking out for your best interested every time. His goodness is not scratched by the fact that I don't understand why He does what He does.
I have such a limited eyesight. I'm terribly nearsighted (I don't recognize my friends without corrected vision) and can only see reality through one perspective: backwards. Even though I am completely blinded by my humanity to everything that lies ahead of me, I still continue to take stock and make plans and pretend I know where this ship is headed. Not that we shouldn't make plans, but seriously. I'm not sure I know how I'll manage to complete my to-do list tomorrow, and I think I know where I'll be three years from now?
Not only am I limited in my view of time, but my sight is especially dim discerning the worth of things. I fail to calculate the consequences of my choices or all the stuff--for better or for worse--that enters and exits my life at a rapid pace. I don't often understand how something can be good for just a season when I think it will be good forever. Walking away from something good is only possible when you confess your inability to know the true value of things. Its a frightening limitation to own. But owning it makes countless more good things possible.
See, often times in the presence of what feels like great blessing, my myopia makes me forget why the "good thing" was given. The reason I was given flesh and form was to know God intimately and praise Him honestly. Therefore, this Good Thing is only good insofar as it helps me to know God and give him glory. The moment it ceases to fulfill its purpose, it is no longer good. Not only that, but sometimes the grief that comes from losing it is in and of itself a new kind of Good; helping you know God and give Him glory in an entirely new way.
The grief itself is good. The losing is a precious discovery. The new poverty is a wealth of riches. This is what Paul meant when he said everything is considered rubbish (or, in the Greek, worth a load of crap). He was talking about good things; good things that just aren't worth comparing to the glory of Knowing God intimately. And nothing makes us cling to God more than loss. But He's gentle and won't make us go through a moment's more of discipline than is necessary for us to know Him more. Blessing isn't in the receiving of good things. It's in the surviving and thriving long after your own power is overwhelmed.
In my own journey, I didn't walk away because I thought I could find something better. I can imagine nothing better than that precious thing I had found. (Good thing God is able to do exceedingly abundantly beyond what we can ask or imagine.) I found the strength to walk away because I'd rather go completely without, than hold onto anything that would keep me from knowing Him more. Knowing and being like Jesus: that's the goal. Nothing else can get in the way of that.
So it doesn't matter exactly what it is you're walking away from. We've all been there, and we will be there again. I'm not exempt from the experience just because I was really really really sure this would work. The only thing that matters is what you're walking toward. Leaving a good thing for a Greater Good. It makes the grief worth it.
