Worth It All

I got a new CD recently, by Meridith Andrews, called Worth It All. The title song contains the refrain, 

"I"ll let go of all I have just to have all of you,

And no matter what the cost, I will follow you.

Jesus, everything I've lost, I have found in you

When I finally reach the end, I'll say, 

'You are worth it all. You are worth it all.'"

It's worth a listen. You can do that here. I've been listening to it over and over. It's made me think hard.

There are people around the world at this moment for whom this song is profoundly and literally true. My brothers and sisters in the Middle East are letting go of everything they have to follow Jesus. The cost is high -- all their possessions, their homes, their jobs, their families, even their lives. The world seems paralyzed about what to do. There seems to be a lot of posturing, shouting, disapproving, even a few aerial bombardments, but basically, the world is standing by, albeit in horror and disgust, unsure how to proceed. In the meantime, there are people who are letting go of even their lives to have Jesus.

I've been praying for months now to have all of Jesus. Well, at least to have more of Jesus. I don't want to stagnate. I want to know him better and trust him more this year than I did last. I want to feel his love for me more. I want to see him answer prayers more often, in more profound ways. But what I have felt is not more, but less. Or perhaps more, but more of hurt, silence, and sadness.

I experienced unexpected circumstances. The phone call at night that no one wants. Days of waiting for tests and procedures. Long and lonely drives up and down the highway. Long and lonely hours in a hospital waiting room, wondering what was happening. Desperate cries of prayer to God for the trust to believe he would do something if I asked, in the face of a fear that he would be silent. It all worked out happily, but it created a shock wave that has yet to subside. Life is short. It is fragile. There is nothing certain. Sometimes the people you expect to "be there" just aren't. And death is just a heartbeat away.

I experienced sudden loss. The email that wrapped cold fingers of dread around my heart. Days of waiting. Long and lonely hours, desperate cries of prayer for God to intervene, for him to do something only he could do, stunned disbelief when, it seemed, he did nothing at all. It didn't work out happily, and while the first wave was still crashing over me, the second wave caught me and thrust me under before I could catch my breath. Life is short. It is fragile. There is nothing certain. Sometimes you don't even get the opportunity to say goodbye, to say, "I love you," to say, "You meant the world to me and God used you in ways you will never know." Sometimes the people you expect to "be there" just aren't. And death is just a heartbeat away.

I experienced deep hurt. Days of waiting with an aching, aching heart. Desperate cries of prayer to God to intervene, for him to do something only he could do, and once again it seemed he did nothing at all. Desperate clinging to him, refusing to let go, refusing to stop believing that he loves me. I'm almost getting used to feeling like I'm drowning. Life is short. It is fragile. There is nothing certain. Sometimes the people you expect to "be there" just aren't. Death is just a heartbeat away.

All that fragility frightens me. The people I love the very most can be gone in a heartbeat. How do I dare to love? My heart already hurts so much, how could I stand another blow? Sin is so very close. I can put things in place to keep myself accountable, but even those things can fail in a heartbeat. How can I be sure that I will not fall away? I know God's grace is sufficient, and his forgiveness is profound, and I'm certainly not trying to be perfect, but I know my heart. I know there is no besetting sin into which I could not fall if I am not on my guard. And oh, my Jesus, I do not want that. But I don't know anymore how to stop it. I once thought I knew, but I don't anymore. I don't know anymore how to dare to love, how to dare to trust, how to dare to live a holy life without it breaking my heart.

Then I hear about Christians in the Middle East who are dying for their faith while the world stands by in impotent rage. What if it comes here? What if a man hidden beneath a black mask held a sword over my head and told me to give up my faith or die? What would I do? Because it could come here. Someday, it will come here. There was a time when I thought I knew what I would do. There was a time when I was sure I would give my life. I want to believe that still. But I'm not sure anymore. I'm not sure I'm sure of anything anymore. I'm not even sure sometimes who I am. "I'll let go of all I have just to have all of you?" Will I? I'm not sure how much more of my heart I can give without there being not enough left to keep going.

I have kept singing the song. Over and over. Not because it expresses what I believe. I have been singing it because it expresses what I want, desperately, to believe. I want to know, to really know that he is worth it all. He is worth the uncertainty, the loss, the hurt, the fragility. He is more precious because of it. I want to know that.

Then last Sunday, the preacher asked, "What if you got to heaven and heaven was everything you thought it would be, with the streets of gold, the jewels, all your loved ones, perfect loveliness in all things? (Well, that's sort of what he said, but I'm ad-libbing.) What if you got there, and it was all that?" I was listening to him and my heart cried out, Oh, I can't WAIT! I was thinking of a world without black-robed beheaders, without cancer, without heart attacks, without hospital waiting rooms and funeral homes and hurt and tears and brokenness and struggles with sin. Honestly, my heart was beating faster, dreaming of that moment. And then the preacher said, "What if it was all that, and Jesus wasn't there?" In that instant, tears sprang to my eyes. In that instant, my heart broke. In that instant, I knew.

If Jesus isn't there, no matter how great it is, it's not heaven.

If Jesus isn't there, I'd rather be here, with a broken heart, with Jesus.
Because he IS here, in the midst of it all.

And I'd rather have Jesus.

Because he is worth it all.

"When I'm there in your glorious presence,

Every knee is bowed before you.

Hear the sound of heaven singing,

You are worth it all.

All the saints cry, Holy, Holy!

Angels singing, Worthy, Worthy!

Forever I will shout your praises,

You are worth it all."