Hi there,
How is your rest of the week going?
We are on the shores of Wateree Lake at weekend meetings in South Carolina—a beautiful, restful place.
It is also remote enough that I couldn’t connect to my cellphone network in our cabin last night. (OK, there was that one bar on my phone, but the spinning throbber repeatedly vanished into the words, “unable to load page.”)
I’ll spare you the thought processes involved in my deciding to stay in bed instead of trekking (slight exaggeration) through the dark to the cafeteria where I could connect to the camp internet and get this newsletter out on time.
The dutifully conscientious reader will understand this dilemma.
Not every decision comes with moral implications or eternal consequences. Of course, we know that. But believing it is sometimes another story.
Vigilant striving to do the right thing lures us into thinking we have the ability to control our circumstances. It may also be the security blanket we wrap around ourselves in an effort to ignore our worries and fears.
How do we forget that it’s OK to relax and trust—to enjoy grace and the good things God gives us?
Have you ever been in a group of people one upping each other with tales of crazy antics they got away with (or didn’t) “when they were young”? Maybe you have some stories yourself.
Or maybe you were trying so hard to be good that you cannot relate, and those conversations leave you wondering if you you might have somehow missed out on something growing up.
That would generally be me—except for that time I worked at a summer camp and my friend, Lisa, talked me into “raiding” the kitchen one night. It was a terrifying thought to me because the camp director was a stern, former military man and I was afraid of what might happen if we got caught.
Lisa assured me that it would be fine because she worked there and it was late enough that no one would be around anyway.
Her logic was appealing.
So we snuck in, keeping the lights low, and just as we reached the freezer door, we heard footsteps outside. My heart plunged into my stomach, eliminating my appetite.
The outside door opened and someone flipped the light switch—and it was suddenly bright as day. In walked Mr. Bullock, the camp manager, and his wife, Joyce.
The Bullocks had been very kind to me and I was horrified to think that their image of me was about to shattered when they realized I was here to steal food.
“Hungry?” Mr. Bullock smiled.
Lisa and I returned the smile and stammered a bit, trying to figure out the least incriminating answer to that question.
“Would you like some ice-cream?” They were both smiling.
Lisa and I looked at each other. “Uh, sure…”
Let’s run you into town and get you each a Frosty at Wendy’s.
For a conscientious college girl, still working out the difference between guilt and shame, it was a moment of pure grace.
I wonder why Lisa and I didn’t think to just ask someone for a treat or for a ride into town in the first place.
I also wonder about the elder brother in the parable of the prodigal son. He was dutiful. He obeyed. And I think it’s safe to say he didn’t have much fun because when his younger, rebel brother returns home, resentment and simmering discontent spill out when he refuses to join the welcome home party.
As Luke describes:
“The older brother became angry and refused to go in. So his father went out and pleaded with him. But he answered his father, ‘Look! All these years I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!’ “ (Luke 15:29-30).
Why didn’t he enjoy what he had available to him? Why did everything feel like a chore? Why didn’t he ever ask for a goat so he could celebrate with his friends?
“‘My son,’ the father said, ‘you are always with me, and everything I have is yours.” (verse 31).
How do we miss the grace and abundance available to us?
As you head into this new week, may grace surprise you and may you rest in God’s approval.
Until next Friday,
Alicia