And I still forget. I am literally dead center in the plot of the most exciting story I could have imagined and I still forget whose I am sometimes. This in turn leads me to forget who I am and then I fall into old worry-habits.
I let fears fester and muffle the truth with an old pillow because it’s a familiar place to lay my head. I forget the epic, stop-at-nothing love behind, before, and beside me and shy at a bump in the night–cower at nothing more than a shadow’s suggestion of trouble.
Have I not seen, have I not heard, have I not felt the unyielding security that is Jesus? Has he not proven himself abundantly trustworthy? Has he not shown me he wants better things for me than I want for myself?
And still I forget.
Last week I shared one of my fears with my dad. It’s the last fear standing (for now) and it’s always sort of been the biggest. I’ll admit that now. Anyway. I told him what my fear was. And I told him my fear was growing.
His response? The wisest words anyone has ever said to me:
“Pull your head out of your ass, Hannah. You either trust Jesus or you don’t.”
I promise you I’ll never forget that. (A) it’s concise (B) it’s true (C) it’s funny. Thanks, Dad. But seriously. How can I say I trust Jesus with my health and all that scary junk I just went through and still hold on to something as insignificant as a small-ish fear?
“No, this ones mine.”
“Oh, it is?”
“You know how to take care of it?”
“Like those six other times.”
(That’s how the dialogue goes in my head.) How silly must we sound when we tell Jesus we know what we’re doing. I mean, He tells the Galaxy to jump and it’s like “how high?” I tell my dog to lay down and he just stares at me.
It’s a blaring act of stupidity for me to think for one second that I have a better idea of how my life should go or that I have any right to hang on to what I’m afraid of. Or that anything could get in the way of what Jesus wants for me.
When I forget whose I am and what that means for my life, I settle. And when I settle, the very fears I try desperately to avoid find the wiggle room to spring to life.
Funny how that works, huh? Hold on to fear & it becomes a real life thing. Let it go & Jesus dissolves it. Seems easy. Somehow isn’t.
At least not all the time.
Good thing Jesus is super patient all the time. Because sometimes I feel like I am slow to let go and even slower to learn.
Go read Isaiah 30 right now. Seriously. It’s all about Israel going “Pshh. We gots this.” And Jesus saying “Lol, you don’t. You’ll actually get hulk-smashed if you keep trying to do things on your own. But hey I love you a ton so drop your self-reliance and let me fight your battles and I will literally guide you directly to really good stuff, okay? Okay.” But honestly the Bible throws it down way better than I can so go check it out yourself. (And read the whole thing. Context, ya know? Trust me.)
Oh you’d like a link? I gotchu: Isaiah 30
I’m so so so thankful Jesus promises to show us where to go when we seek Him. He’s not about to leave us hanging. (And I think part of this is that it’s weird getting used to that.)
Your ears will hear sweet words behind you: ‘Go this way. There is your path; this is how you should go whenever you must decide whether to turn to the right or the left.