The Great Unraveling
I’m in over my head. Life’s beginning to unravel like the inside of a busted baseball. Out of control and empty handed. I’m finally exposed with no place to hide. It’s a turbulent place to be, but perceived security comes with its cost.
Life unraveling is a painful process, but it reveals my hidden crutches. Those things I lean on to glean my identity and worth. The tangible indicators of how I measure up to those around me. I’m undergoing a great unraveling and, in the process, discovering me. And even better, discovering my God. Not my version of god but the God who is. The God that I serve, not the god who serves me. When life isn’t unraveling, it’s hard to keep things in proper order.
Why am I talking about all this unraveling business? It might sound like I’m equating serving God to a chore, an obligation, a duty, as if God is in heaven needy, looking for people who’ll do His bidding?
Perhaps, unraveling us is the most loving thing He could do?
If I ever question the activity of God it helps to remember Paul’s words in Romans 8:32, If God didn’t hesitate to put everything on the line for us, embracing our condition and exposing himself to the worst by sending his own Son, is there anything else he wouldn’t gladly and freely do for us? If God died for me, which by faith I wholeheartedly believe, what could He possibly withhold that would ultimately be for my good? If He willingly subjected Himself to torture and death for me what more must He do to demonstrate His love?
I choose to serve Him or to be more accurate follow. The great unraveling is simply pulling back and setting aside the things my heart gravitates toward for identity, even though it’s a false identity.
God doesn’t withhold any good gift from His children, but wisdom comes from determining the meaning of good. Because of the cross, I defer in moments of confusion to God’s definition of good rather than my own. When something in my life begins to unravel, there must be a greater good that only comes through the lesser good being pried away.
The unraveling is painful, and I am in over my head. But there’s freedom in the surrender. God is my Father and I’ll always be His child. Like with all children, my perspective is limited; but my Father’s is omnipotent. He sees the big picture and sent His Son to die for me. What more could He do to demonstrate His love for me? When I can’t see the destination, the best I can do is follow the One who loves me and who’s already there.