I was thinking this past week about how I’d like just one Sunday…JUST ONE day…
Where I wouldn’t have to worry about which of my worship team members wouldn’t be able to make it because they’re sick/busy/out of town/not doing well spiritually
Where I wouldn’t find myself guessing which of my discipleship kids would flake out and sleep through church…after looking me in the eye the day before, promising that they’d make it out
Where I wouldn’t have to wonder whether or not there would be police cars sitting in our parking lot (or how many there would be)
Where I wouldn’t have to see the two opposing factions of the K side openly quarreling with each other with said police force having to mediate between them
Where I wouldn’t have to remember to lock up our sanctuary doors after service because certain individuals aren’t allowed in
Where I wouldn’t be concerned if the songs I picked for worship are “fast” or “slow” or “moving” or “lively” enough to sing to a sea of listless, tired faces
Where I wouldn’t have to worry about who’d be the next member to leave our church, or fall away from their faith entirely
Where I wouldn’t feel borderline resentful of the situation God has placed me in.
It’s been a wild past month and a half for me. Some of the things that I listed above I’m no longer dealing with, but all the same, there’s been an infinite amount of aspects that have made it so difficult for me to come in with a heart of worship on Sundays. I responded by entering into a mentality where all I thought about was planning, coordinating, implementing, doing, executing…and then doing those things some more.
And unsurprisingly, it sucked.
Last Friday night, I found myself alone in my room, face down on my floor. My spiritual state had gotten to such a dry and cynical point that the only thing I could possibly think of doing was setting aside personal time to spend with God (at 6 p.m. on a Friday evening, of all possible days of the week). And during that time of deep reflection and prayer, I came across the verse above. And it made me stop dead in my thoughts.
So many of the anxieties that flood my mind on a day to day basis are founded in matters far beyond my control, yet I feel some sort of duty to try to “save” them, as if possessed or driven by some sort of messiah (or martyr, depending on how you look at it) complex. And ultimately, God’s placed the achievement of these things all far beyond my ability to fulfill them. “These battles are not yours to fight. They are mine to win,” God seemed to be so tangibly saying to me last Friday, and since then, it’s been the start of one long rebuilding process of my relationship with Him.
I don’t mean for this entry to be a complete downer (though, admittedly, that’s the state that tends to drive me to blog most often), and I certainly don’t mean for this to make any of you readers jaded or cynical towards the church. On the contrary, I’ve been learning an incredible amount through this whole process. God has continued to show His faithfulness to me, and I’m confident that, whether or not I stay here, or move on, or move away entirely, that His plan and purpose are continuing a good work that will ultimately draw me that much closer to Him, and mold my heart into one better fit for whatever He has in store for me in the future.
Thanks for reading. I covet your prayers, and will be praying for all of you as well.
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