Thursday, October 4, 2012
31 Days: Going Doesn't Meant What You Think
I used to assume that Going meant being a missionary, and everyone knows, true missionaries live in Sierra Leone or Papa New Guinea.
But God poured His sweet mercy out on this feeble soul, making me a girl who mostly loathed camping. Hallelujah. He wouldn't send a non-camper off to the Mission Field.
I started to read a bunch of verses about Going, and being sent. It made me sweaty. It seemed like the words were for everyone, not just Paul or the Disciples or my sister.
Here's the thing, I like it when I ask my kids to do something and they do it. It's a window into their little soul. I like that they trust my authority and understand (even if they don't appreciate) that I'm the boss of them. They believe in the deep that I want the very best for them, and that I know how to help them get there.
I don't ask them to do something crazy as a test, then yell "cut!" at the last possible second. There are real reasons behind my asking. There's a plan in place and they probably had no hand in its design.
So sometimes Going means traveling. It might mean moving to the other side of the tracks.
But maybe it means taking lasagna in a tin-foil pan to the guy across the street. Maybe it's making friends with the girl who's as mean as a snake. Maybe it's the PTO. Maybe it's an idea so hair-brained that you hesitate to say it out loud.
Maybe it's art. A child you didn't grow. A pay cut. Heck, maybe it's a raise.
The Going seems to know no limits, because the architect of everything spins the universe on his index finger with his eyes closed and one hand behind His back.
He invented crazy. He's the original forward-thinker. He reasons in reverse.
So stop trying to make sense of it. Go already.