Some days, I am more keenly aware that I live my life within a central unspoken personal paradigm: it is all up to me. If you were to ask me in an outside context if I truly believe everything in life hinges on me, I would say a resounding “no”. Come on, dude! What sort of self-centered, narcissistic jerk do you take me for?!
But then, I would walk away from our conversation and live as if the world would stop turning if I don’t keep giving it a daily whirl. Unfortunately, I end up feeling as if it is the one whirling me.
I awoke this morning before the dawn. I worked out. Ugh. As I showered, I leaned my head against the wall and said these words out loud to God.
Father, life is not in my hands. It is not my hands that have brought about the blessings in my life. It is not my sole responsibility. I am not alone and I am not in complete control. I am not responsible for every aspect of my ministry that works. I am not responsible for a healthy daughter. Happy marriage. Financial stability. Cancer-free body.
Oh, I have a key role. My actions count. My choices make waves. But they are not the tsunami I act like they are. They are not the fulcrum upon which all of life is balanced. I must be active. I must try. I must work. But I don’t have to be worked over. Jesus was worked over for me and His hands are more qualified than mine. His heart is greater. His words are sweeter. His power more potent.
As Mark Twain said concerning the importance of the right words and almost the right words, you could say that the difference between God’s handle on things and mine is as significant as the difference between the lightening bug and the lightening.
Yeah, I get it. But I don’t live and think like I get it. I still worry. I still strive beyond the point of a man who trusts his God.I still take on the day as if my shadow boxing of busyness and worry is holding things together.
But I’m tired of falling apart. Thus, I express what I know to be true: life does not come from my hands. Now, I set out to live what I know.