Writers In The Storm

I’m not an actress. I don’t even play one on, er-, never mind. Had I the choice, I would have starred in my first roll before the age of seven. By now, of course, I’d have my star on the sidewalk, my signature in cement, and a wing in my mansion to house my Oscars, and such.

But I didn’t, so I’m not, and I haven’t.

If we all had a choice, the world be overrun with famous actresses, rock stars, sporting giants, and — thanks to the current Princess Movement among the under eight crowd — excess female royalty. The whole system would make clean toilets passé. Who, alas, would deign to do the scrubbing?

It’s like starting a business, everyone wants to call the shots, be in charge, make the 30,000 ft decisions. But, first things first. Who’s going to pay for the business cards?

In God’s infinite wisdom, He calls us each to be a part of the body of Christ. I understand my role, more so, now than ever. This blog, my other writing, has helped me define my significance.

I’m not a head. I don’t now, have never, will never speak from a pulpit or position of authority.

I’m not feet. I don’t lead others. I’m not especially good at following. And often, I’m not entirely sure of where I’m going.

I could be a shoulder. Whatever ache someone has had, I’ve had one too.  Maybe not the same one. but I understand pain.

I could be a pinkie. Not leading the charge, like an index, or definitive in function like the thumb, but a pinkie that can work with the crew to get something done.

More likely, I’m something internal, soft-tissued, messy, and expendable.

As long as God loves me, I’m good with that.

I remember staying at a cottage near the beach with my parents, plus my wonderful sister and her family. Since she and I were both grown-ups, in theory, at that time, we decided to go for a night stroll on the beach. We had a lovely time strolling, chatting, dreaming. When we got back, her husband looked very worried. “Your Dad is really mad.”

Mad? We were adults. What was there to be mad about? She and I went into his bedroom and, oh yes, the man was livid. Why are you out so late? Don’t you know people are worried? How could you? The irony was that these were things he should have been saying when I lived under his roof, but I digress . . .

He was furious, and I couldn’t understand why. I tried to reason with him, tell him that we were safe. I turned back to my sister, to bolster my argument, but, I was alone. My wingman had taken flight. At some point, she skulked out of the room and left me to fend for myself. Alone.

So much for the team. But it taught me a good lesson. You can’t always count on those around you in the battle. God always gives us a way out. Not from the battle, but from the sin. He uses battles in our lives to train us:

       To be obedient, if it is a battle of His choosing.

       To rely on him. Often we can’t do it in our own strength, but if we can, it’s still sweeter with His presence.

       And because we are too bull-headed to learn any other way.

I think back on the low moments of my life. I had an out, every time. It was up to me to take it.

He promises never to leave me, nor to forsake me. Quite unlike my wimpy wingman.

Job description for believers: bearer of the cross, guardian of the gospel message, conveyor of eternal riches, giver of grace, ambassador of Christ, lover of the unlovable, washer of feet, vessel of mercy, peacemaker for troubled hearts, reflector of His glory, whisperer of heavenly mysteries, declarer of His praise, keeper of His secrets–a chosen-precious-and-pampered child of God. I fail miserably at all job requirements, except maybe the pampered part. I have no problem basking in His goodness.

Good thing, because He knew when He created me that I couldn’t hold up my end of the deal. He knows I’m just dust.

It seems every time I pick up my cross to follow Him, I fall far behind, complaining along the way. Whether it’s splinters, fatigue, discouragement, pain, sweat, lack of vision, or just plain selfishness, I find myself messing up and giving up–a hard place to be if you’re the kind that liked getting straight A’s in school and today you anticipate exemplary job reviews. Each time the cross falls from my shoulder and thunders to the ground, I wince and wonder if this is the time when He’ll finally give up on me.

Then He reminds me–He knows I’m just dust. And somehow, He calls this dust precious and pampers me with His goodness and reassures me that His cross is enough.

Some jobs are hard, regardless how well a person does them:

Bull riding. The cowboy clown can’t cushion the fall on your tushion.

Writing. The blank page is a formidable challenge.

Tax collecting. No one likes those people.

Proctology. My blank page, my list.

People tend to think being a Christian is “hard”, as if it were a list of do’s and don’ts–all the fun stuff being on the don’t list, naturally. I’ve read that is a factor in the rise of Islam, the clear set of expectations to be a follower.

In my case, before I had a personal fellowship with Jesus, I thought I was free from the shackles of expectation. A socially evolved creature, I was no longer confined by convention, tradition, or the bourgeois definition of my cultural time slice.

But what was I free to do?

Follow a life of aimless self-indulgence. Even the more disciplined people I knew were just lobsters in the pot. The water temperature rising ever higher while the world around us hunched further under the weight of sin. Their lives spent in pursuit of an image held up to the public mirror. A voluntary slave.

Freedom comes in Christ.

My job description doesn’t shift beneath me with every new venture. He tempers my expectation of others. The very yearnings of my heart are filtered through the love of my Creator.

From Adam and Eve to the men on the moon, He has sought to commune with every heart. Whether born in a barn, the bush, or a bordello, we are born a blank page in His eyes. He rejoices when we choose to love Him, and when we don’t, His heart aches.

I am even free to cause Him grief.

But I don’t want to. In Christ I am a new creature. The rules out there no longer apply to me. Except the tax collecting part.

I’ve written a fair number of job descriptions in my time. Every single one of them ended with these words:

And other duties, as required.

A clean list of chores can’t always suffice the neediness we encounter. Too tidy a job description serves to fence out all the things I’m not required to do.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

Many Christians hold onto the Ten Commandments as a job description. Let’s see:

       Did I chisel any graven images today? No time. Oprah was on.

       Covet my neighbors stuff? I don’t even know my neighbor.

       Steal? Nah. If they forgot to charge me for it, that’s they’re problem.

Looks like I’m good to go.

But of course, Jesus had other thoughts on the matter. He looks at the inside, the motivation behind the action. The truth under which we operate. Is it His?

My insides were a scary place to examine the first time. He’s not interested in my obeying the letter of the law, but in whether my heart is willing to be obedient in His love. When sin keeps me out of step with God, His love tethers me. As a kite caught in a thermal, He reels me back in to fellowship with Him.

No, daughter. This is what I want for you. This is better.

Maria Sharapova played her sweaty best, but she misread her opponent and lost the match. This champion tennis player may also lose her number one ranking among today’s female competitors. As Sharapova gathered her stuff from the court, spectators jeered.

When asked about her feelings regarding the crowd’s response, she replied, “I can’t please everyone. That’s not in my ‘J.D.’ — not in my job description.”

Sharapova’s comment provides two components of every person’s job description:

1. We need to do our best whether we win or lose.

2. We need to aim to please God not people.

What else belongs in our job descriptions?

How about we spend the next couple of weeks discussing our jobs as moms, wives, neighbors, church members, and employees?