Running in the Snow

Last week I was fortunate to go hiking in Glen Eyrie in Colorado Springs during the first snow of the season.  Despite being a bit out of shape, I had finally adjusted to the altitude and was trekking along at a good speed.  The snow appeared to increase and thoughts of having to turn back from my journey began to impede my progress—I slowed to a stop.  As I stood in silence and observed the flurries, I realized that the snow hadn’t increased since the beginning of my walk; it was still falling to the ground at the same relaxed speed.  My fast pace had distorted my perception of the snow. 

Now given my love of metaphors and being my father’s daughter, I had a “Life’s a lot like that” moment.  For much of my life I have been compensating for my young age in ministry by working really hard to be a conduit of God’s grace (funny since conduits are supposed to do nothing accept allow substances to flow through them…).  Whether it is facilitating a bible study, leading worship at church, discussing spiritual matters, I feel I have to work extra hard to appear to be a mature Christian because of my young age.  And because of how much effort I’m putting forth, it feels like I’m running down a trail in the snow—it’s snowing really hard!  The Holy Spirit’s work is increased greatly by my effort!  This is great!  But when I pause to reflect on where I’m at (my “red dot” for all my SSD friends), I realize that the Snow has not increased due to my effort—God’s still doing what He wants to do.  The Holy Spirit is still snowing down grace on people’s lives at the appropriate speed.  So this leads me to ask the question, why am I working so hard?  What good is all of my “extra effort”?  Isn’t all this over-compensation actually prohibiting me from experiencing His grace? 

I’m beginning to see that all of my extra effort actually shows my immaturity rather than proves my maturity.  I want to meander through the Snow instead of running through it.   

Fences and Chinks

It’s been over a year since I was last at the Garden of the Gods in Colorado Springs, and there have been a few changes.  One of those changes is an addition of fences along the sidewalk.  Every few yards there are signs stating: “To help preserve nature, please stay on sidewalks”.  While I understand the intent behind this addition to the park, I can’t help feeling that I am no longer allowed to engage with the beauty that is here.  See the beauty, sure; be in awe, yes; but really engage by wandering through the grass or nestling into a crevice of the Red Giants, no.  Not allowed.  Prohibited.  Inaccessible. 

And is this not what I do in my relationship with God?  What is intended for direct contact and interaction—an authentic relationship—I pervert and distort by building fences to keep out.  In order to “stay on track” with God, I set up boundaries to keep moving towards my goal—a godly life.  By staying on a certain track, I think I am “preserving” God’s beauty.  I can love God and be blown away with the visual beauty of Him, but I cannot partake in His beauty.  Not allowed.  Prohibited.  Inaccessible.  By building these fences to help me be a good Christian, I so limit and deprave the true meaning of Love and Beauty.  Why do I feel the necessity to guard myself from engaging in true Beauty?  I believe I choose the sidewalk version because if I can only “see” God’s beauty, I can talk about that experience while preserving my shame.  If I don’t engage with God’s true beauty, I can’t see what is truly ugly in me.  I know my sin is ugly, but only compared to what I have categorized as beautiful.

Yet as I searched along the fence in the park, I found chink in which I could enter into the park instead of merely walking along the periphery.  Without this opening, I would never have known what I missed.  God has been revealing these fissures in my own life, allowing me to participate in His beauty.  And through these interactions I am realizing what I’m missing—I’m settling for my own definition of beauty, and while I may feel safer in this, I am not really living.

With these glimpses comes a drive to rip out the fences in my life, but as soon as I get on the other side and back on the “Christian Sidewalk”, I forget my chink experience and decide to walk along the fence until I find another opening rather than create one myself.  This side of Heaven, I don’t know that I will change much, but I’m becoming aware of my fences, and there’s power in that.