I have, however, typically added stipulations and expectations onto those invitations. Some of those stipulations and expectations could be characterized as genuine anticipation of what God might do. My heart was hopeful, but somewhere along the way, I started imagining exactly what I'd hoped He might do. Sweet and simple faith then turned into something more subtly sinister. He'd asked me to be faithful and, in my movement forward, I'd wanted to tell Him precisely what that faithfulness should look like and precisely what should result from it.
When God gave me children, He invited me into faithful
parenting. Follow Me as this little one
follows you, He'd said. Before the first child was even free from the womb,
I'd already encased him in my expectations of who he'd be, of what gift I wanted God to give. The little boy came and the reality of him was so different than my
expectations. When I turned my questions toward God, He seemed to say, "I simply asked for your faithfulness
with this little one."
When God called us to plant a church, He offered me an invitation into faithful service. I responded with obedience but also a clear and detailed
plan of what would result from my obedience. My husband and I had
dreams and all the dreams were big, God-sized, God-honoring dreams. What could be wrong with that? The
dreams, however, were not what God had originally asked from me. He had asked only for my faithfulness.
God asks for our
faithfulness, but we don't get to choose the shape our faithfulness takes.
We simply say "yes" and God takes that "yes" and makes
what He wants with it, both for our good and for His glory. If we attach
expectations--what
shape our faithfulness should take--or
demand certain results or fruit from our "yes", we will be
consistently frustrated and angry, and we will consistently miss the joy of simple
obedience.
When I tried to choose the shape of my faithfulness in
parenting, I felt like a failure. In church planting, my dreams created a gnawing thought that clung
tightly to me: God has somehow let me down. Or perhaps I've let Him down and need to try harder. I couldn't see obedience
as the gift and the freedom that it is, the freedom that leaves the shape-making up to our sovereign God.
Sometimes we just have to go back to the beginning, to the
initial invitation. In every instance when God invites us into His work,
there aren't stipulations and there aren't guarantees, aside from
the most important guarantee: that He'll never leave us. We must remember what pleases God. It's faith--faith that leads to simple
obedience.
When we return to the invitation, it's easier to see that
we're often harder on ourselves than God is.
My friend teared up recently as she told me that she didn't
understand why God hadn't moved in a certain way, a way that is right and good
and dear to His Father-heart. She was willing, oh-so-willing, to serve Him
sacrificially and, like Abraham with Isaac, God had led her so far and then not required the final act. But, I said, you responded with faithful obedience. It seems that's all God is
asking for right now. And you've done it! His heart is so happy.
I see myself in her: wanting to do everything possible to
serve and honor the Lord, wanting to serve the least of these. I don't think
it's true of her, but it's true of me: I also want my faith to be visible to
others. Why is it that I want results to validate my faith? Why is that I want my faith
to be seen and celebrated by others, but I'm not quick to listen for the sweet celebration of my God?
That's what it comes down to for me, because faith isn't
always tangible in its outcome. Sometimes it's an unseen "yes", a BIG
unseen "yes", and God doesn't in the end act as we thought He would. Sometimes what others see in our outward circumstances doesn't match that unseen "yes". However, every unseen
"yes" is always, ALWAYS seen--and celebrated--by the God who asked for it.
