“No thanks, I got this.”
Like a child learning to do things independently, I often push aside the ways of God in preference for my own. Though I may not say these words directly, my actions convey the thought in principle.
I want to do it all. I tend to want God’s help only when I want and in the way I want it. Every time I run head long into activities and convince myself I don’t have time to sit with God, I’m telling God I don’t need him. When trials hit and my first response is to feel despair and to fall apart while looking for someone to care, I’m telling God I don’t need him. On the days when I feel fine and dandy, and I forget God’s joy is with me, I’m telling God I don’t need him.
It’s not done intentionally; nevertheless, it’s all too easy to treat God as a commodity rather than the sustainer of all things. It’s easy to want the benefits of God’s abundance and miss the moments of gleaning.
For anyone like me, we want to do much for God but we forget how much he’s done for us. Our fretting hearts struggle to know, it’s OK. His love will never leave. His provision will never diminish.
Take a deep breath. Come, sit, and stay awhile. Enjoy the pleasure of His company and the gift of his grace. Surrender the need to do it all and find the beauty of a sacrifice that paid it all.
There’s more of our Creator to know and enjoy than most of us will ever experience. Will we come to his table and see the bounty laid before us?
Years of over-serving drained me, but I kept going anyway. Women’s ministry, teen ministry, prayer team, bible studies, homeschooling, step-parenting, running a non-profit ministry, then fostering five to eight children at a time. All the activity became an outpouring of sacrifice mixed with a bit of savior hood. If I could just keep it up, keep saying yes, keep doing all the things I ought to do, I would be fine.
Eventually, I collapsed. I mustered the strength to keep running, but I lived parched and empty. None of what trickled in sustained me for the long haul of pouring out. I wanted to do my best to please him, and I longed for him to be pleased with me, but I didn’t know how to let my heart rest in his love. I snacked at his table every time I felt hungry, but it was never enough.
Doing for Jesus without relying on Jesus brings a whole lot of emptiness. A kind of famine for the soul.
Acting as if it’s all under control requires reliance on a limited supply of resources. When you don’t know you’re hungry, you don’t come to the table to eat. When you’re so busy with all the things which must be done, you miss the pleasure of sitting and lingering.
Can you envision coming to this place of feasting with Jesus? Do you see the heavenly realm depiction of filling us with more of Him? A kind of satisfaction settles in.
I want more.
He invites us to sit with him. To let our rushed lives find moments of savoring. To celebrate the maker of all things as he hosts us at his table of plenty. He offers daily communion with the most high and holy King.
Do we treat his invitation as something that can wait? As if it’s unwelcome and unwanted? Perhaps our busyness says, “It’s OK, God. I got this.”
But without the nourishment he provides we starve. We don’t live life to the full because we’ve neglected the fullness of God.
As I lean into a new list of demands I’ve created for my own life, I’m cautious of my tendencies to go without God. I’m learning to listen to the hunger pains, even preparing for them before they arrive.
When God’s invitation is to wait and worship, even while serving and loving others, I find an ebb and flow which keeps my soul fed well.
His overflowing heart says to our running-empty living, “It’s going to be OK, dear child. I got this.”