The Bible never says, “Try hard enough, and you will be saved.” – so I accidentally wrote in my last weekly blog. The thought has lingered in my mind. Each time I think it, I feel the load on my shoulders lighten.
I am so glad the gospel message is not to try harder! I already spend a considerable amount of my energy trying. I try to do everything. I try to perform for my God to the very best of my ability. I try to be the best writer possible, the best friend, the best leader, the best sponsor, the best sponsee, the best sister, the best digital marketer, the best babysitter, the best follower of Jesus, the best budgeter, the best dinner group member, the best…
Perhaps you can understand why I am relieved when I remember the foundation of the gospel is not trying. God does not promise me that if I come to Him I will be given something to strive for. He promises me rest.
God says I can rest because He did the work.
I am so glad. Conveniently enough, the reminder came a week before vacation. It was a pretty amazing vacation. Long enough to help me step off the treadmill of my weekly routine, but too short to give me a desire to return to it.
I never thought about this on vacation. I was too busy doing absolutely nothing. Since coming back, I keep remembering God has given me permission to rest. The promise of the gospel is rest.
Come to Me all you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.
Not an assignment. Not a bar to jump over. Not approval to win. Not energy to muster. Not a ‘get out of jail free’ card. Rest.
I keep repeating it because if you are anything like me the next thing you are going to do is start trying to have rest. I don’t think we will ever succeed at trying to have rest. That is not how Jesus said we would attain it. It is a gift we need to humbly accept – not something achieving can win.
Two weeks ago as I lived through the final week leading up to me publishing my book, my life went nuts. For the most part, I never let it get to me. With what God is doing in my life through CR and writing, I expect the devil to get pissed off and throw me as many curve balls as possible. In all the crazy business, I set fire to my apartment. I turned on the stove and never turned it off before leaving the house. (Though I ate my entire breakfast standing next to the stove, so I wouldn’t forget.) When I came home five hours later, there was a sign on my door that said the fire department had to break in to put out a fire. I opened the door, unsure what to expect. What I found was mercy. I deserved to have my home burnt to ashes. I lost my doorknob, pot and one plastic lid.
The wages of sin is death. The wages of setting a fire is ashes – unless someone intervenes.
But there were consequences to my actions. Smoke. The people around me began to wrinkle their noses and ask if I was a smoker. I realized I had a problem. My mistakes had a peculiar odor. My home had a peculiar odor. How was I going to be able to invite people into a home which stunk so bad?
I never complained about it, but it just so happens one of my friend’s parents is starting a business to help people cleanup smoke and fire damage. There was an offer made. They would come and clean it up for free while I was on vacation. I did the common sense thing. I turned the offer down. I was alright. It wasn’t so bad. I could do it on my own!
I came home that evening. As I walked into my apartment, I realized I was going to have to be humble enough to reach out to my friend. I couldn’t foot the bill of paying and when it comes time to leaving this apartment, I can’t foot the bill of having them need to get rid of the stench.
Before I had a chance to reach out, the offer was made again. This time I accepted. As I prepared to go on vacation and have people come in while I was gone, I cried. It was so painful to accept the grace. I didn’t want to have to need anyone. The realization the people around me were being affected by my indiscretion seemed unbearable. I couldn’t pay for the gift. I couldn’t live without the gift. I needed to accept the gift.
Even writing this is bringing tears to my eyes. Always I have been one who wants to do it myself. Always pain isolates and makes me want to bear it alone. But always I will never be able to succeed.
Come to Me all you who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
I can step off the treadmill of performance anytime I want. God never asked me to get on it.
In Hebrews 4, the writer talks about the promise of sabbath rest for the children of God. Are you working for your salvation or are you confidently resting because Jesus already did the work? When will you come to Him, so you can quit working (achieving, trying, striving, performing)?
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