I am almost always up at this time, but I am usually praying and drinking coffee; writing and drinking comes later. Last night is what is different about this morning.
Sometime before the 8:25 p.m. start of the Eagles-Giants game I was in the living room with my Surface Pro 3 on my lap. I was editing a chapter of a book I was writing when my wife’s iPhone rang inside its purple Otterbox. After hanging up she asked if I was going to get one of our daughters from her Christmas party. “When does she need picked up?” I asked. “She said you could come right now.” The chapter edit was going well so I said something about going in a bit.
During that “bit” a loud set of knocks happened at the front door. Unusual? Yes, but the package people have long hours at Christmas. It took only about a second for my wife to remember who this would be. It was a young lady coming by not to drop packages off, but to pick something up for her mom.
My wife, this lady and my youngest daughter jumped into conversations and guinea pig petting while I headed to the Christmas party. On the way I grabbed my keys plopped a Beech Mountain hat on my too-long haired head. Out into the car port I went and my mind took a quick picture of the red Toyota Rav4 that had brought this visitor ot our house. She had parked behind the van and not my Tacoma. “That was nice of her to park there,” I thought and went on to be pleased at its convenience for me to leave on my errand.
I jumped into my rather new, uniquely colored, Toyota Tacoma. It’s orange, but somehow called inferno red. My phone was dropped between the emergency brake and the center console, the wallet in front of the gear shift, and the keys into a drink holder. After meeting Mr. Google and figuring out where the party was I pushed the start button. After getting the route in my brain out I backed, and not with a bit of speed. As I saw that Rav4 show up on the right side of my car I hit the brakes hard.
I did not hit anything else, just the brakes. That is why I am writing this this morning. You see, I had become so preoccupied in the flash of time between seeing the Rav4 and backing out that I entirely forgot the Rav4 was in the driveway. “Well, the collision avoidance monitor would have notified you if you were about to hit it,” came a weak voice into my head. That voice was weak because it and I both knew I was close enough and going quickly enough that I could easily have smashed our cars into a bad evening.
Okay, so you almost had a wreck. What of it?
I still have not told you why I am writing this, but I will now. In the few seconds of “whew” I thanked God for helping me not collide those cars.
I still have not told you why I am writing this. You might figure it is all about remembering to thank God for protection on our lives and such. Nope, not that. It is about being thankful, but it is far darker than thanking God for protection. You see, I said I was thankful, I prayed my thanks…BUT…I was unhappy about needing to be thankful. I had forgotten the Rav4 was there. An accident would have happened before I could have prevented it. I imagined how easy it would have been to have backed up the middle of our driveway. The middle would have meant an accident; straight was safe.
When I thanked God for helping I felt an awkwardness at having needed it. That awkwardness was like a shade over my brain. It mainly said, “Ugh.” This wsa not the first time in my life that little “ugh” had come along. I want that “ugh” to stay far, far away.
If I want help I’ll ask for it
I am not averse to God helping me, but I have an independent streak. That streak is threatened when I realize moments of unasked for help. I am good with asking God for help and getting it. Surprised, maybe, but asking and receiving seems different than receiving without asking. My independence wants the order right.
Where does this come from? It is pride, but it does not announce itself as pride. At issue is my desperate desire to be master of my own life1. My mind exists in DIM mode. That means do-it-myself, and is a variant of DIY (do-it-yourself). I want to fix my lawn, blowers, and finances, my job, computer and just about everything else. To need anyone is unfortunately categorized as a risk in my brain. It is not on-purpose, but on-reflex. Every now and then I find these emotions which tell me rather poignantly that I don’t want to need God.
I get into this awkward bit of feeling indebted to God when he helps and I hate that. The hate is beneath the surface but it is a strong, strong current. To have received something from him in incidents like those above wounds my pride. It yells, “YOU NEEDED HELP YOU IDIOT! YOU’VE GOT TO BE MORE CAREFUL!” In those moments I know I cannot argue my way out of it. The moment comes and along with it the help. Over and done with, help received; vulnerability exposed. I know God is kind with it, but there is just this passion to have not needed kindness.
Sign the consent form already
It is very crucial that I realize and accept that I need God for these things, and even to accept his kindness and help. It is pride that demands help only when sought. Falls and pride are rather intermingled. I don’t want to fall either; that, too, would wound my pride. So submission to God’s involvement is a thing I have to learn. I do not consider myself yet to have learned it, but at least I know it is an issue. Oswald Chambers said someplace that when we collide with God on things we need to get alone and wrestle them out with God. God helps as I have mentioned here. He helps with pride and neediness. The needy are, after all, one of his specialties. Often we just don’t acknowledge our neediness; or, maybe, we deny it?
So if you find yourself having an Aha! over what is here, the answer is not with me. It is in a wrestling session between you and God. The answer must go further and deeper all the way down into your heart. There is where the submission must happen. There is where the pride must die.
That “further and deeper” is like spiritual surgery or maybe even spiritual chemotherapy. God is the surgeon, the physician. Now, you and I do have to do something. That something is rather minimal though. All we must do is sign the consent. After you sign that consent God will go to work. It won’t be instant and may be arduous, but sign the consent; let go and let God. Do it over and over. He’ll take care of the rest. Then you’ll find rest.
Merry Christmas
Take my yoke upon you is a thing Jesus said. He came and lived. He died and rose again. The yoke of Jesus is a yoke of restful work. Let him lead.
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