This weekend, we pulled several boxes out of storage, their bottoms scraping against the cement and rocks. Hustling to get them into our cars and into the house, my sister and I pored over memories. The boxes were filled to the brim with report cards and homework, paintings and cards, pictures and mementos. Filled with things we forgot about, things we remember brightly, things that made us laugh and things that moved our hearts.
We exchanged dialogue for hours starting with, "remember this?" and ending with. "I will never forget this." Peering over pictures of young lives and babies and people in love, wondering what it was like, what they were like; snapshots of people from a different time, stuck in a memory, leaving your heart and mind just a little more fascinated by their lives.
And as we pored over pictures, one thing I was fascinated by was these pictures of my parents; their love and their smile and their story. And one thing I have begun to realize over time is that my my parents are people. It is like there is something inside of you as a kid, that sees your parents as super people, as heroes. It is almost as if at times you forget of their humanity even if you see their brokenness, even if you catch wind of their hurting hearts, something about them is so beautiful, so lovely, so trustworthy, so valiant, so strong.
That for a moment, you could almost forget, that they are people too.
And sometimes I feel like I have put so much pressure on them. As if even into adulthood, I have demanded their perfection. Almost as if you forget about their story and you forget about their journey, and you get into this thing about what they owe you. I mean after all, they are your parents.
It is like somewhere in the back of your mind, you have been keeping this tally of every good and missing thing they have ever done, and they still owe you.
But love keeps no record of wrongs.
And even stretching beyond my parents, I feel like, I have been encountering the "you owe me" syndrome in my own heart.
As if my people owe me something. As if God owes me something.
As if somewhere and someplace, it was established what I was entitled to and I haven't gotten it, so I wait for it with hungry hands and a hungry heart. And I feel like at its very essence is greed and selfish ambition.
But it parades around as so many other things. So many other things.
And I feel like it is more dangerous than I even know.
But love is not self-seeking.
And it is like the more entitlement I walk around with and the more discontentment I carry – the harder it becomes to worship Jesus, the harder it becomes to love people. And it ultimately leaves me powerless.
Because it has placed my stability or my strength in the hands of other people; whether they are delivering on what I feel I am entitled to. It makes my heart hard.
It has left me powerless because my eyes are now on whether my hands are empty or full when they should be scanning the room with the heartbeat of, "what is Jesus doing?"
Living in response to what He is doing is healthy. Living in reaction to what happens to us is unhealthy. He owes me nothing because He already gave me everything. And it isn't about what He owes me but about how I can offer up my life.
And if somehow along the line, I get convinced by my culture, that it is about what someone owes me, I need to get back to the Cross, back to His feet, back in front of His eyes.
One glimpse and I know.
So tonight, I wanted to open my heart wide to you in this. To know that we are all on a journey in our own way and Jesus collides with us every single time.
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