When I grow up...

I have long observed them...those Christians who appear to move consistently from glory to glory, always praising Jesus and having the victory. Their Christianity, as graceful as a dance, usually gets them noticed, promoted to leadership or launched into ministry. Then there's me with my two left feet—stumbling, fearful and tentative—making more mistakes than not. For a long time I thought there must be something terribly wrong with me, as I never could get my act together let alone take it on the road. No matter what classes I took, conferences I attended, books I read, Bible studies I mastered, I never quite attained the level of Christian maturity I desired. Half the time I was afraid I was likely not saved and the rest of the time I was convinced I wasn't. 

In my mind I've known a long time that my hope doesn't lay in 'getting it right,' but don't really believe it. I know I don't believe it because I am surprised and disgusted when I mess up. Old as I am, I've believed that eventually I'd consistently get it right. I really expected to grow up and walk on my own--a functioning, Christian grown-up. But technically there are no grown-up Christians…we are children all, every single day of our sojourn in this life. 

A mature Christian is one who stops saying, "I can do it myself," and humbly waits until God takes his hand before he tries to walk. One who understands that God the Father will always need to hold his hand. My security rests not in my strength or native abilities. It’s not dependent on my talent or intelligence or maturity or spirituality or education. My theology doesn’t have to be completely sussed-out, polished, with no holes or contradictions. Jesus isn't averting His eyes from my childish Christianity. He's not waiting for me to figure Him out. He is gazing intently at me, because He loves me and wants me to grow into what He intended. 

I am so grateful that my access to Him isn't restricted until my anger issues are resolved or my fears relieved. God's not withholding fellowship until I get a grip on my flapping tongue. He sees my bumbling attempts to love and serve Him with the fondness one has when watching a toddler gain life skills. He does not reject me for my failures, but urges me, again and again to get up and try once more. He longs for my company as a bridegroom longs for His bride. He finds me beautiful and takes no notice of that which mars my beauty. The fact that I do not understand this makes it no less true.

His faithful supervision doesn't mean I'm a failure...it means I am never alone; never abandoned; never left to figure stuff out on my own. My part is to resist looking at my ugly, imperfect attempts to follow Him and keep my eyes fixed on Him. I am to believe, to trust, to rest in my expectation that God is good and intends good for those who are His. So I am learning to let go of my unrealistic, unfounded and disappointing expectation that I am someday going to 'arrive' and follow Jesus error-free. That expectation leads me to shame when I fail and pride when I succeed. The old hymn has it right,

I need Thee, O I need Thee;
Every hour I need Thee;
O bless me now, my Savior,
I come to Thee.

Every hour, every minute, every breath...not just in emergency and loss, but in joyful times as well. I dare not take the smallest step until (and unless) my Father takes my hand. Selah