Saying No

I’m finding I have to say “no” a lot these days.

And I’m wondering, why is it so hard?

I mean, I realize there’s only so much of me to go around. I understand the need for “margin” in my life. And I try to walk with God, ask him where he’s leading as I make decisions. I’ve got a pretty strong sense of what I’m supposed to be about, and that helps me know what I’m not supposed to be about.

But even still, I find myself flinching, sometimes freezing inside when I have to come to a decision and the decision is “No.” No, I can’t help you. No, I can’t come. No, I don’t have time to hang out. No, I can’t take this call.

Why is it so hard to say no?

Is it because I grew up in an alcoholic home, learned to carry unhealthy burdens, felt obligated to take care of others?

Is it because I want people to like me, and I’m afraid they’re going to think,  “Eldredge is a jerk?”

Is it because I fear I’ll miss the will of God, that he is in this or that request and I’m afraid I’ll blow right past something he is in?

Its probably D) all of the above. But as I reflect a bit more on the internal workings of this, I think the common thread is that I want to be thought well of.

And it makes me realize how crucial it is to get my validation from God. It’s hard to navigate all the needs and demands in a broken world. Jesus said, “The poor you will always have with you,” meaning, there is always going to be more need than you can meet. It’s hard to navigate my own motives. The enemy is a constant accuser. There is just no way out of this mess except to place the verdict on my life in God’s hands, and to draw from him the validation or correction on how I’m living. If I have a settled confidence in his opinion, then I’m free to live. If I lose sight of that, o man, it makes a mess of things.

“God, how am I doing?” I need to take my bearings here. It’s the only true north.

 

Its the Little Things

Years ago I was sitting in grad school, listening to a lecture by Larry Crabb talking about real and substantive change in our lives, and how our choices every day reflect what’s truly ruling us. He said he was blasting out the door that morning as he usually did, crashing into his day, blasting, how he made a conscious decision to stop, turn around, go back and get something he forgot. The point was, “I am trying to be aware of what is ruling me as I move through my day, and I’m making small decisions to act against it. That’s how I cooperate with God in my transformation.”

I thought…huh. Really? That seems like pretty small potatoes. That’s where change takes place? I’m in grad school for this?

Over the years I’ve found it to be profoundly true. We look for the huge, monumental changes – which are so hard to pull off, and pretty rare for most of us, and we miss a thousand small decisions that could change us.

This summer, it was flip-flops.

I’ve never liked flip-flops, thought they were wimpy. When I did wear sandals in the summer, I’d choose something like Tevas, or Chacos, “adventure sandals” that have straps and buckles, a design that make them ready for action. It reflects a posture, an approach to life. “Always be ready for action.” Flip-flops are like wearing bathrobes. Like going to the market in pajama pants. I’d never be caught dead in a bathrobe. I mean, it’s so friggin wimpy.

OK. So part of my awareness and repentance of late has been to see how little I chill-out. Just chill-out. Let down. Relax. I’m always “on.” I despised flip-flops because they were so un-ready for anything.

Anyhow, I bought a pair when we went to Hawaii in June, and I’ve worn them throughout the summer. Its a small act. Might even seem silly. But its a way of repenting. “Chill out, John. Give it a rest, for heaven’s sake. You don’t have to be ‘on’ all the time.”

So, it’s been the summer of the flip-flops. It goes down as a milestone.

Fairy Tales

It was Chesterton, years ago while reading his Orthodoxy, who first really helped me see that we live in a Fairy Tale. The world we live in is fantastic beyond description, but we get dull to it and forget. So we tell each other fairy tales so that we turn again to our world and see it for what it is. Anyhow, I was bow hunting this weekend with my son Blaine and my friend Morgan, high up in the mountains of Colorado. It involves a lot of long hours just sitting still and being quiet in the woods. Which is a beautiful time for taking in the world again.

Saturday morning Blaine and I were poised over a water hole, on the edge of a dark forest, and I was watching dragon flies cruising around the little pond. They look like miniature biplanes. Blaine nudges me, shows me a tiny lime green inch worm on his hand. Really now, dragon flies? Inch worms? Who would have thought of this? You could not have made this world up, it is so amazing. This world is fairy tale through and through.

Anyhow, a squirrel runs down the branch of a tree we are sitting under, and makes it clear he doesn’t like us being there. I sort of shoo him off and for five minutes all is silent. Then one by one, missiles start raining down from above. Thwack. Thwack. Like artillery. The squirrel is in the top of the 30 foot fir tree, throwing hard cones down on us. I kid you not. This goes on for about five minutes, all still silent, but the missiles coming in. He finally hits Blaine, and at the very moment bursts out in chatter, is if he were laughing. I think he was. Fairy Tale. How did I not see it before?