Quitting

 Have you ever noticed how giving up is catching?

One person gives up, and that leads other people to assume that they have permission to give up, too.  One person stops running, and soon other people begin to drop out of the race.

It got too hard . . .
     It hurt too much . . .
          It was too much work . . .
So they quit.  They bail.  They give up.

And somehow, the rest of us are supposed to feel sorry for them.  Somehow, those who give up become heroes, examples worth following.  We seem to think that those who give up have it harder than those who persevere.  We think that if they get to quit, we can quit, too.

Now, I'm not talking about people who are forced to give up.  Sometimes your boat tips when you're at sea, and you can't right it alone no matter how much you try, and, through no fault of your own, you're forced to quit.  There's no other choice.  No, I'm talking about people who entertain the thought of quitting just because things are hard and uncomfortable.  Even to the point of feeling unbearable.

Let me tell you something:  hanging on, persevering, getting through one more day is way harder than giving up.  Giving up is easy.  Giving up costs nothing except to everyone else.  But holding on?  Holding on is hard.  The  heroes are not the ones who quit.  The heroes are those who hold on to live and fight for one more day.

I don't know about you, but I don't get to give up.  Quitting is not an option.  Period.  I will not allow it to even cross my mind.

It is exhausting to fight the lies in my head with the truth of God's word, but I will not quit.
It is heartwrenching to grieve the losses I have experienced, but I will not quit.
It is inside-out painful to allow the Lord to uproot sins of pride, bitterness, anger, and unforgiveness to make me more like Jesus, but I will not quit.
It is wearying to attempt to establish Christ-like habits and disciplines in my life, but I will not quit.
I can cry until my insides hurt but I don't get to quit.
I can fight, scream, yell, and ask why, but I don't get to quit.
I can stumble and fall, but I don't get to quit.
It might hurt so that every movement, every breath, every heartbeat is an agony, but I still don't get to quit.

Quitting is not an option.  This is the life God has given me, and I don't get to quit.  I don't set the finish line.  I don't call the race.  He does.  I just get to run.

So I run.  My run is a ragged affair.  There is little about it that is impressive or glamorous.  Most of the time, it's more of a painful shuffle.  But that's ok.  Scripture doesn't tell me to fight the good fight and win the race.  It tells me to finish.  It tells me that quitting isn't an option.


The ones who give up are not heroes.  The heroes are the ones who bear the pain for one more day.  They are the ones who keep running when everything in them screams to stop.   Even if they cross the line dead last.

How's That Working?

"Life without Jesus -- how's that working for you?"

Fine, thank you.

What a ridiculous question.  Life without Jesus -- how's that working?  Let's face it -- life without Jesus often appears to work just fine.  There are lots of people out there who are living their lives without Jesus.  They have good jobs.  They have good health.  They have loving spouses.  They have kids who are in university on scholarships, cheerleaders, and enrolled in little league hockey and on their way to the big leagues.  Their lives without Jesus are jim-dandy, and they're not just pretending, either.

And then there are the people who are living life with Jesus, and it seems like everything is going wrong.  They lose their jobs and can't find a new one.  Their spouses die of cancer.  Their kids cause more heartache than pride.  They suffer from illness.  Sometimes they even give up in despair.

Life with Jesus -- how's that working for you?

Not very well, actually.  Not very well.

It's an old problem.  Asaph talked about it in Psalm 73.  "For I was envious of the arrogant when I saw the prosperity of the wicked.  For they have no pangs until death; their bodies are fat and sleek.  They are not in trouble as others are; they are not stricken like the rest of mankind." Life without Jesus?  No problem!

Of course, that's not the end of the matter.  Asaph acknowledges,

"But when I thought how to understand this,
    it seemed to me a wearisome task,

until I went into the sanctuary of God;
    then I discerned their end. 

Truly you set them in slippery places;
    you make them fall to ruin.

 How they are destroyed in a moment,
    swept away utterly by terrors!"

It's not over until it's over, and while life without Jesus might work just fine, death without Jesus is a ruin and a terror.

Still, we do people a disservice when we persist in spreading the lie that life without Jesus is filled with nothing but torment and suffering, and life with Jesus is somehow always wonderful.  We don't do that, you say?  What about when we say things like this?

"You just need to have faith that God will  heal."

"It's ok that you didn't get that job.  God obviously has something even better for you."

"It's not God's will for anyone to be sick.  After all, he's promised us abundant life, and sickness is not part of the abundant life."

"Cast your cares on him, and he will care for you."

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest."

Oh, wait, those last two are actually in the Bible. . . 

But was Jesus saying that if we just ask him into our hearts, he would make all our problems go away?  Not so much.

Yet that's exactly what we lead people to believe. We tell the teen girl who is cutting herself in despair, "Cast all your cares on him, and he will care for you."  What is she supposed to think?  Of course she thinks that means if she asks Jesus into her heart, he's going to somehow magically rescue her from those things that cause her to despair. So she asks Jesus into her heart, and the bullies continue to torment her at school, or her father continues to drink, or her parents continue to wage war with each other in the night.  We tell the husband standing at his wife's bedside, watching her take one ragged breath after another, "You just need to have faith that God will heal."  He blames himself as she slips away; his faith must have been lacking.  We say to the person without a job, "God's got something better," and she goes home and decides that she's going to have to live on two meals a day so she can keep the hydro on, and she doubts that God even sees her anymore, let alone has something better.

The fact is that life without Jesus can work just fine, and life with Jesus can, and often is, full of suffering and pain.  Sure, sometimes suffering and pain is caused by our sin, and when we begin to live in accordance to God's Word, things get better.  But not always.  This world is broken, and sometimes life just sucks, no matter how much we wish it didn't.

So how about we stop adding to the burdens by holding out a handful of half-truths and downright lies disguised as hopeful promises?  How about we start admitting that life is broken, and that on this side of eternity, there isn't always an answer?  How about we stop holding out uncertain gifts as though they are guarantees, and begin to hold out the Giver who is the only guarantee we will ever have?

What if he never answered another prayer?  What if he never healed another person?  What if you will always struggle with that mental illness?  What if that physical limitation will be with you for life?  What if you will never have enough money?  What if you never get the job of your dreams?  What if you never get to hear your dad say, "I love you"?  Is God enough?  What if, instead of telling each other, "God's going to do this or that for you," we began to tell each other, "God is enough.  Even in this, he is enough.  He is worthy.  Even in this, he is worthy.  He is good.  Despite all that we see and feel right now, he is good."

Life with Jesus might not be easy.  It might be full of heartache and sorrow.  But life with Jesus is still worth it.  I can't promise you anything.  There might not be a job.  There might not be a healing.  There might not be a miracle.  There might not be an answer.  There might only be a cold, lonely night of the soul that feels like it will stretch on endlessly.  Anyone who tells you anything to the contrary is a liar.  But I can tell you this:  regardless of the heartache and sorrow, he is worthy.  Jesus is worthy.  

He.  Is.  Enough.

No matter what.

Nevertheless, I am continually with you;
    you hold my right hand.

 You guide me with your counsel,
    and afterward you will receive me to glory^.

 Whom have I in heaven but you?
    And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you.

My flesh and my heart may fail,
    but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

(Psalm 73:23-26)

It's Hard . . .

Sometimes, the world crashes in.

I get up in the morning, and the sun still rises, and the birds still sing, and there are still people are counting on me, but my heart is in ruins.

It's in moments like these that I become acutely aware that what I see and what others see in me don't always match.

I fill my car with gas.  I smile and chat with the gas station attendant.  She has no idea that my heart is in ruins.  It's not hers to know.

I go to work.  I have a job to do.  I am professional and pleasant.  The guests on our campus see someone who is competent and confident.  They have no idea that my heart is in ruins.  It is not theirs to know.  They are here to evaluate our school, not to deal with my ruined heart.

And so it goes.  On the outside, life carries on.  On the inside, it has ground to a throbbing halt.

It's hard.

I feel like a liar, a faker.  People think I have answers when I have none at all.  All I have is a heart full of questions.  Why?  Why?  Why?  A great lump of unshed tears sits in the centre of my chest.  People think I am strong when I am not strong at all.  All I want is for someone strong to put strong arms around me while I cry my eyes out.

No, I am not strong.  I am not brave.  I have no answers.  I'm hurt.  I'm a confused, angry, sad, bewildered, aching, frightened, uncertain, stumbling fool with a heart full of tears  in a life that has seen more than its share of tears already, if there is any such rating.  I'm a frightened kid wishing for a dad who would hug me and hold me and tell me it's going to be ok.  I feel ugly and shabby and weak, bleeding from a dozen wounds life has inflicted upon me, covered with scars from old wounds, wondering where in the world God can be in all of this.

But he's there.

Somehow, he's there.  When I feel my ugliest, he is there.  When I feel my smallest, he is there.  When the rest of the world sees only the outside, he sees the inside, and he loves me.

It's hard.

It feels impossible.

But he loves me still.

And my Daddy puts strong arms around me and lets me cry my eyes out.  So I'm going to lean in to him.  My ruined heart is his to know.

"It's hard for me to believe I could be lovely in your eyes

That I'm really the one you want.

It's hard for me to believe you would want me by your side,

That I'm really the one you want,

I'm really the one you want.

I wish my stumbling finally would end

But I need your mercy once again.

I've shed these tears so many times

Still you pick me up and hold me tight.

And you love me, you love me, you love me still.

You love me, you love me, and you always will.

I'm really the one you want."  

(Todd Agnew -- The One You Want)