Lately, I've been watching a show called May Day quite frequently. To summarize, it's an hour-long episode, which investigates and reenacts previous airplane emergencies and crashes. While I know the phobia of flying on an airplane is common in my family, I myself on the other hand am strangely intrigued by the subject matter.
Despite some of the horrific accidents and experiences, I find it reassuring to know they put so much money, time and effort into investigating these crashes and making sure they aren't repeated. Not to mention the small black box sitting in front of me helps me feel comfortably detached from reality.
Nevertheless, in many of the emergencies there comes a time where the pilot must make the decision to turn off auto-pilot. It's often at this critical moment where a pilot can save the plan or lead it faster to its demise. Auto-pilot is designed to function more efficiently than its human counterpart under normal, unchanging conditions. But when the plane gets damaged, weather changes, or other unforeseen circumstances arise, the auto-pilot can no longer safely drive the plane. In fact, it will cause more harm than good.
The pilot's and staff's initial reactions always stand out to me. How are they handling the emergency? What is their first reaction? Are they acting on instinct or knowledge? In other words, are they acting based on what they think they know or what they sense? One common element in an accident is that the pilots rarely know what is the true cause of the emergency - appearances are often deceiving. Training sometimes can be misleading.
And so I cannot help myself but imagine where I fit into their chaos. Am I the calming flight attendant? The panicking passenger? The screaming baby? No, I look to the cockpit, and reflect on the captain's role and his responsibility for the trip's success.
Not too recently, God revealed to me that I was living my day-to-day life on auto-pilot. Very efficient, effective, and secure. Who would suggest to do otherwise? But in a world of flash storms, congested runways, and modified itineraries, auto pilot is not always the safest nor the most beneficial route.
I was relying too much on my involuntary responses, and I essentially had checked out. Following after God was a trying task for me, and I had placed such a yoke on myself striving to determine His next step to mirror. Evidently, I lost sight of the real meaning of "following God" so once I realized striving wasn't the answer, with little thought, I flipped the switch and took to the other extreme. I wasn't letting God steer the plane, but I sure wasn't flying it either.
And I was comfortable on auto-pilot. It didn't require much of me at all, and I assumed God was pleased with my decision. With my feet kicked up on the dash, reading some inane Archie's comic, I was enjoying my time. But God sent some mild turbulence my way to get me to look up from beneath my shades, and get my attention. He wasn't going to give up on me that easily. Thankfully, I noticed soon before the turbulence had to get really violent to wake me from my dozing.
At first, I made the decision to take responsibility with much muttering under my breath. But as I reflected on all that God had done for me, it was easy to see how He had done so much to prove His love and reliability when He didn't have to. Slowly, fear turned into trust, and I made what was in my mind a leap of faith, and I hit the switch.
I've learned that ditching auto-pilot isn't necessarily a simple task. Not only is it not an easy decision, but the initial results can be terrifying. In one scenario in May Day, there was a mechanical glitch in the airplane, and the aircraft starting to bank dangerously to the left. The pilot understood he had to risk turning off auto-pilot to redirect the plane, or they would most certainly crash.
As soon as he flipped the switch, the plane flew madly out of control. It's nose dipped down, and the aircraft was locked in a ferociously steep nose dive. It didn't matter which way the aviator pulled at the yoke, he had no control. Just hundreds of feet away from impact, almost miraculously the pilot was able to gain control of the aircraft, and perform a life-saving emergency landing. I can't even begin to fathom how heart-wrenching such an experiencing would be.
And yet, it doesn't sound that different from our lives. Living life God's way is no guarantee that our life will be full of rainbows and butterflies. In fact, becoming a follower of Christ often means struggle and refinement, but all for the purpose of the Lord's plan. Where the pilot analogy falls short is that God is ultimately in control and sovereign in our lives. He really is our pilot, and we are the co-pilot. We can find relief because the success of our journey is not entirely up to us. In fact, we will not get to our true destination outside of God's help.
Though God has asked us to take on the responsibility of our lives, and that of loving and serving others, He is with us every mile of the trek. Make a wrong turn? God will work it out. Damaging storms? The Lord will make the repairs. Foolish decision? Our Father can redeem that.
It is in our weakness that God's power is made manifest and perfect (2 Cor. 12:8-9). He is continually perfecting us and helping us mature and grow for the day when we will rule as kings. It's not an easy task, and neither is this life, but it's definitely a rewarding one when we spend every moment of it pursuing God.
Much of the challenge lies in balancing our responsibility of the aircraft, and God's role in the journey. We know we truly are not the first pilot, but we are the co-pilot and the co-pilot's duties are as essential for the journey's success. It is a fine line between domineering our own lives and becoming our own god, and sitting back and expecting God to do all the work. But it's one I am committed to figuring out both in my screw ups, and successes at God's right hand.
Are you willing to take the dive too?
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Monday, September 20, 2010
Awakening
Recently, I have felt distant from God. I feel like I'm heading back in the right direction, but part of me deep down is scared - the small child in me that has wounded, and been hurt; the small girl that has tried, failed, and lost.
She sits quietly in the corner, and says little. But I can hear the scream of her bleeding eyes. She wants to believe. She desperately hopes, but she does not know if it is worth the risk. She fears it will all work out the same. She is vulnerable, and knows the truth, but she also remembers.
Whenever I have fallen astray from God, it's always when I've walked furthest from my heart. I have accomplished this through many tactics. One chapter of my life, I turned off my heart. I believed I had been hurt more than I had deserved so I shut down, and I lived a cold existence. I hoped that my dedication to God would save me from pain, but after repeated let downs, I decided I would no longer handle it. I would feel no pain, but I would feel no joy or love either. God had wounded me, and I knew how to wound Him the deepest. I closed myself off to Him. I really was doing the most damage to myself.
It took great turbulence and trials to wake me from my heartless somber. Just as a defibrillator is invasive, and forceful, God had to kick start my heart in such a brutal manner. Yet, I could not be more grateful for what He did. Just as a father desires the least pain for his daughter, God took the least painful path possible to get my attention. But I'm pretty stubborn, so it meant it had to hurt a little like ripping off a Band-aid. The wound needed to air. It was not healing under the moist conditions of the bandage. Though I was blissfully unaware of what havoc lay beneath the material, convinced the bandage was doing a beautiful job (actually it was doing exactly what I wanted - hiding the problem) God knew the sore was festering.
More recently though, slowly I let business take over my heart. As work & church & my social life started to consume more of my time, one of the first things to go, shamefully, was my relationship with God. How? I slowly stopped living from the passion and love of my heart.
I know some might argue that our walk with God should have little do with our hearts, as it can lead us astray...but He lives in me. 1 John 4:15 says that whoever believes in Jesus Christ, God lives in him, and he in God. He has given me this body - heart, mind and soul - and chosen to dwell in it. I don't understand it, sometimes I question it, but I won't challenge it. He knows what He's doing (He's proven that too many times to count!). Anyway, He made this dwelling.
But when I got busy, I started to set aside the passions & desires of my heart. I started to set aside all things poetical in my personal life - writing, music, love, worship, healthy fellowship. These things in themselves do not sustain me or give me joy...but these seem to be knitted so deeply in my being that I yearn to live out a life of passion in, of and for God. But I started to wane in my passion.
As the passion's fire started to flicker, my heart started to fail. In my busy life, the last thing I needed was a crutch to slow me down. I figured it more efficient to pack my heart away to return to it at a better time than nurse a dying thing. As I left my heart in a box in the closet, I was neglecting to maintain the dwelling place of God. I was letting His house grow dust bunnies. More, I was setting aside the greatest connection to my God, the core of my relationship with God. Life - more importantly God - lost its beauty, passion and lustre, and the every day became all about survival. I had lost my first love.
The day I welcomed Jesus in, I do believe God moved into my heart. Paul prayed that Christ would dwell in the hearts of the Ephesians through faith. It's a mysterious thing, but beautiful nonetheless. However I do not doubt He has been with me from the moment of my conception - before I even knew God - but something very supernatural, and humanly inexplicable happened the moment I gave my life to Christ. Some dynamic in Heaven and in the recesses of my soul shifted, and God's Spirit was now in me, and I now dwelled in Him. I dusted off the welcome mat, opened the door, and God and I were now roommates.
But God isn't always an easy roommate to live with. Worse, it's even harder to live with myself, but God has called me to this walk with Him. Several components have made this arrangement tricky to abide by. Mostly, it has to do with me - my will, my flesh & my heart. My will fusses, my flesh indulges, and my heart is weak.
I find Psalm 37 depicts a beautiful picture. David calls us to trust in the Lord, do good, dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture. I imagine the indwelling of the Spirit like a sleeping baby being cradled tightly in the arms of his mother. Their bond is so close, and their connection so deep, they seem as one, and all is fair. Living in and with God should not be tumultuous, but rather give me a life of spiritual peace & contentment. So what goes haywire? Why is God's indwelling not a written guarantee that I will always feel alive?
The following verse in Psalm 37 makes it so apparent: I forget to delight in the Lord. I set aside my heart, my passion, and my love for God - and this Life Story - and cease to delight in God. For when I delight in the Lord, He will give me the desires of my heart. The true desires of my heart are not that of success, fame and money, and if you are honest, neither are yours. My deepest desire is to be in a constant dance with my Lover. It is for my heart to beat with His, for the veins to flow into His so that when he is cut, I bleed. It is not for Him to fulfill my whims & wishes...no I yearn for my desires to be transformed into His.
And as I let business take over, and distract me from my beautiful relationship with the Lord, He started to feel further and further away. Yet not once did and never will my place with God change. That is the inexplicable beauty of His grace and promise. God will never leave our side even though He seems absent. But when I decided He was no longer a priority, God wasn't going to fight my choice, but neither was He going to abandon me. We were still living in the same place. I had just turned off the light, and put in ear plugs so I couldn't hear or see Him even when He was jumping & yelling right next to me!
But it's time I start listening, and answering again. Ignorance won't justify me, and neither do I want to miss out on the opportunities God is sending my way. I'm taking out the ear plugs, opening up the curtains, and partying it up again with my God.
You and I - we dwell in the land of God, and I'm going back to enjoying the safe pasture God has set before me.
She sits quietly in the corner, and says little. But I can hear the scream of her bleeding eyes. She wants to believe. She desperately hopes, but she does not know if it is worth the risk. She fears it will all work out the same. She is vulnerable, and knows the truth, but she also remembers.
Whenever I have fallen astray from God, it's always when I've walked furthest from my heart. I have accomplished this through many tactics. One chapter of my life, I turned off my heart. I believed I had been hurt more than I had deserved so I shut down, and I lived a cold existence. I hoped that my dedication to God would save me from pain, but after repeated let downs, I decided I would no longer handle it. I would feel no pain, but I would feel no joy or love either. God had wounded me, and I knew how to wound Him the deepest. I closed myself off to Him. I really was doing the most damage to myself.
It took great turbulence and trials to wake me from my heartless somber. Just as a defibrillator is invasive, and forceful, God had to kick start my heart in such a brutal manner. Yet, I could not be more grateful for what He did. Just as a father desires the least pain for his daughter, God took the least painful path possible to get my attention. But I'm pretty stubborn, so it meant it had to hurt a little like ripping off a Band-aid. The wound needed to air. It was not healing under the moist conditions of the bandage. Though I was blissfully unaware of what havoc lay beneath the material, convinced the bandage was doing a beautiful job (actually it was doing exactly what I wanted - hiding the problem) God knew the sore was festering.
More recently though, slowly I let business take over my heart. As work & church & my social life started to consume more of my time, one of the first things to go, shamefully, was my relationship with God. How? I slowly stopped living from the passion and love of my heart.
I know some might argue that our walk with God should have little do with our hearts, as it can lead us astray...but He lives in me. 1 John 4:15 says that whoever believes in Jesus Christ, God lives in him, and he in God. He has given me this body - heart, mind and soul - and chosen to dwell in it. I don't understand it, sometimes I question it, but I won't challenge it. He knows what He's doing (He's proven that too many times to count!). Anyway, He made this dwelling.
But when I got busy, I started to set aside the passions & desires of my heart. I started to set aside all things poetical in my personal life - writing, music, love, worship, healthy fellowship. These things in themselves do not sustain me or give me joy...but these seem to be knitted so deeply in my being that I yearn to live out a life of passion in, of and for God. But I started to wane in my passion.
As the passion's fire started to flicker, my heart started to fail. In my busy life, the last thing I needed was a crutch to slow me down. I figured it more efficient to pack my heart away to return to it at a better time than nurse a dying thing. As I left my heart in a box in the closet, I was neglecting to maintain the dwelling place of God. I was letting His house grow dust bunnies. More, I was setting aside the greatest connection to my God, the core of my relationship with God. Life - more importantly God - lost its beauty, passion and lustre, and the every day became all about survival. I had lost my first love.
The day I welcomed Jesus in, I do believe God moved into my heart. Paul prayed that Christ would dwell in the hearts of the Ephesians through faith. It's a mysterious thing, but beautiful nonetheless. However I do not doubt He has been with me from the moment of my conception - before I even knew God - but something very supernatural, and humanly inexplicable happened the moment I gave my life to Christ. Some dynamic in Heaven and in the recesses of my soul shifted, and God's Spirit was now in me, and I now dwelled in Him. I dusted off the welcome mat, opened the door, and God and I were now roommates.
But God isn't always an easy roommate to live with. Worse, it's even harder to live with myself, but God has called me to this walk with Him. Several components have made this arrangement tricky to abide by. Mostly, it has to do with me - my will, my flesh & my heart. My will fusses, my flesh indulges, and my heart is weak.
I find Psalm 37 depicts a beautiful picture. David calls us to trust in the Lord, do good, dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture. I imagine the indwelling of the Spirit like a sleeping baby being cradled tightly in the arms of his mother. Their bond is so close, and their connection so deep, they seem as one, and all is fair. Living in and with God should not be tumultuous, but rather give me a life of spiritual peace & contentment. So what goes haywire? Why is God's indwelling not a written guarantee that I will always feel alive?
The following verse in Psalm 37 makes it so apparent: I forget to delight in the Lord. I set aside my heart, my passion, and my love for God - and this Life Story - and cease to delight in God. For when I delight in the Lord, He will give me the desires of my heart. The true desires of my heart are not that of success, fame and money, and if you are honest, neither are yours. My deepest desire is to be in a constant dance with my Lover. It is for my heart to beat with His, for the veins to flow into His so that when he is cut, I bleed. It is not for Him to fulfill my whims & wishes...no I yearn for my desires to be transformed into His.
And as I let business take over, and distract me from my beautiful relationship with the Lord, He started to feel further and further away. Yet not once did and never will my place with God change. That is the inexplicable beauty of His grace and promise. God will never leave our side even though He seems absent. But when I decided He was no longer a priority, God wasn't going to fight my choice, but neither was He going to abandon me. We were still living in the same place. I had just turned off the light, and put in ear plugs so I couldn't hear or see Him even when He was jumping & yelling right next to me!
But it's time I start listening, and answering again. Ignorance won't justify me, and neither do I want to miss out on the opportunities God is sending my way. I'm taking out the ear plugs, opening up the curtains, and partying it up again with my God.
You and I - we dwell in the land of God, and I'm going back to enjoying the safe pasture God has set before me.
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