Journal 2017
My mom had just flopped onto the sofa in the living room when I came to the locked screen door near her and demanded to be let in. She told me to go around to the unlocked kitchen door. I refused. I wanted my own way. I persisted until she gave in, too tired to argue with me or to stand her ground.
The moment she gave in, my seven-year-old self felt something shift inside. I had gained a little power—but at the cost of my self-respect and my mother’s disgust. It didn’t feel good even though I’d gained the victory. I guess I felt guilty.
I repent, first, of my stubborn heart and, second, of my insensitivity toward my mother’s weariness. I recognize that my actions were less than stellar, but I want to thank the Lord for putting such a strong spirit inside me. Mom always said I had a stubborn streak, but if that spirit could be channeled right, it would be a good thing. Thanks, Mom, for believing in me.
So, what is this wanting my own way, not wanting to be inconvenienced, to have to walk a few paces to enter another door. Was I lazy? Self-centered? I think at the time it was driven by tiredness. I think. But, of course, that’s no excuse.
Visual: This stubborn part of my heart looks like Gimli in Lord of the Rings: strong, stout, grumbly, gruff, and tough, but determined to finish his quest. Jesus invites him to chat, but Gimli mutters under his breath. He doesn’t care much about leaving the body (the hurting part of my heart) outside with a sprained ankle. But he comes in and plops down on a chair across from Jesus who is lounging by the fire. (Mom is still sitting on the couch, oblivious to the conversation that’s about to commence.)
“Drop the ‘tude!” I want to shout at Gimli. “You have strength already without it.” (I can see the wheels turning inside his head.)
“This is just who I am,” he says. “Get over it.”
Whew! He’s a tough nut to crack, Jesus. Good luck with this one!
Jesus gets up to tend the fire in the fireplace, and somehow this action begins to melt Gimli’s gruff exterior.
“I’m sorry, Jesus. I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember. I don’t know to be any other way.”
“You’re changing right now . . . “
“Well, yeah, you sorta have that effect on people.”
He smiles. “What’s on your heart, Gimli?”
Gimli looks down toward his chest. He may be a literalist, but he knows what Jesus means.
“I dunno. I just want my own way.”
“Why?”
“Because it feels good. It feels strong. In control.”
“I see.”
“You see what?”
“I see where you’re coming from.”
“You do?”
“Uh huh.”
“Then figure me out!”
“You’re doing fine yourself.”
“Okay, I suspect You’ll ask me next if I’m willing to give up control? And the good feelings . . . “
Jesus nods His head slightly. “Go on.”
“And I need to find a good reason to do that.”
Jesus waits.
“Well, aren’t You supposed to show me something?”
Jesus throws His head back and laughs. He’s enjoying Himself. Apparently He knows that I know that I’m doing it again—maintaining control of the conversation.
“All right, already. I know what I have to do. I’m just not sure if I know how. I trust You. I do know that.”
Chris Tomlin’s song “I lay me down, I’m not my own, I belong to You alone, lay me down . . .” pops into my head.
Comically, this literalist Guardian, who’s as wide as he is tall, climbs out of his chair and lies on his side on the floor.
“You know I’ll have a hard time getting up,” he grumbles.
Again, Jesus laughs out loud. He loves this character.
“Okay, so now what?”
“Now what, what?”
“What do I have to do next?”
“Nothing!”
“What!? I can’t stay like this all day! I’ve got work to do.”
Jesus heads over to the couch, gets a cushion, and places it under Gimli’s head; then He retrieves a blanket and gently drapes it over him. “Rest well, my friend. You’ve earned it.”
In seconds, Gimli is sound asleep, snoring loudly.
Next, Jesus goes to the screen door, unlatches it, picks up the tired and hurting body and carries it into the room. He tends to the ankle first and then invites the body to rest. She knows Jesus will never leave her side.
Gimli opens one eye. “Jesus?”
“She’s okay. Fast asleep on the couch.”
“Okay.” And Gimli drifts back to sleep, dreaming of wars and battles and victories won. But today was his greatest victory of all.
And what of my mom? She’s curled up in her chair, also fast asleep. And through my haze, I can hear Jesus softly humming, “I lay Me down . . .”
Thank You, Lord, for laying Yourself down. You sacrificed Your body, broken and bruised, for me. How can I do any less when You ask me to sacrifice MY body for others who don’t deserve it.