Growth is imperceptible.
That's what our priest said on Sunday. He said that it's silly to sit and watch an apple grow, because it happens so slowly you don't notice it, and if you try to force it to grow---well, you just can't do that. You can water the tree, but messing with the fruit itself doesn't cause it to mature faster.
You can't make yourself grow, he said. We live in a culture that focuses on self-help and progress. We like results. We like to be in control. But only God can grow a person. Only the Holy Spirit's movement in our lives causes us to become a tiny bit more like Jesus today than we were yesterday. And the more we focus on our growth, the more discouraged we get, because a watched pot never boils, as the saying goes. Growth happens when you stop trying to notice it. Growth happens without you realizing it.
Growth happens when you start focusing on Christ and stop focusing on yourself.
How true this is. This year has been a year of pruning for me. And the more I have talked with other people about my sufferings and my wrestlings with God, the more I have felt a sense of panic. Panic that I can't get past my pain. Panic that I can't see God's goodness. Panic that I am the worst Christian in the world because I have doubted God's faithfulness, have believed Him to be cruel, have been infuriated at Him day after day. I have wanted to change myself, have tried forcing myself to be good. I have wanted to pretend that I am a joyful Christian. I have thought about smiling that sickly sweet good Christian girl smile and telling people that I am doing great and, by the way, am so happy to be single because it gives me more quality time with Jesus--PTL WWJD Halle-freakin-lujah!
Other times I have wanted to walk away from the faith because it seemed impossible that I could ever be a good enough Christian to please God with a perfect reaction to the hand He had dealt me. I have spent hour upon hour despairing that I will never make it out of the woods, because I don't have what it takes to stop feeling lonely and depressed and angry.
But it's funny how the growth comes, so silent and gradual.
And it's funny how when I stop trying to be a good Christian, the Holy Spirit has room to work. Sometimes we try to create fruit ex nihilo--snap our fingers and make it appear out of thin air. But fruit doesn't grow that way. It comes molecule by molecule, microscopic cells steadily dividing in two day after day.
One day I went for a run and just felt it. Saw the willow tree--not a common sight around here--and thought of a friend's words to me a year ago, about how I was like a willow tree, spreading her roots deep into this place, finding a home here in Charleston. And suddenly there were words in my head--"My little Willow." A sudden sensation that His hand was on my shoulder, causing my own palm to unconsciously fly to my shoulder to meet it. That wasn't the first time I had seen the tree. A couple weeks before, I had been running away from my emotions, sweating out the angst, crying and angry and praying. I was almost home when I looked up, and there it was. Me. The willow tree. And I knew it was a promise, a promise that I was right where I was supposed to be.
And I see the growth now. See the trust coming back, the ability to perceive His ever-present love. I see the healing. He was always there, like the trainer of a wild, rebellious filly--standing within the round pen, watching this silly, immature little horse run around and around in circles, driving herself mad, driving herself tired. Knowing that eventually she would have to stop. Would have to see Him there. Would have to hang her head and repent and submit.
But unlike a bridle in a horse's mouth, His yolk is easy, and His burden is light. It takes some of us a while to find this out. Some of us are denser than others. But He is patient when we are unruly. He is kind when we are bitter. He is loving when we are deserters. He does the growing. He burns away the unfruitful branches in our life, despite our howls of protest. Thank God. Thank you, Jesus.
It's no use trying to force it. If you are trying to become a "better Christian," stop it. Ride the emotions as they come. Yell and beat a pillow. Tell your Daddy how angry and frustrated and abandoned you feel. Because when you let down your guard, and quit trying to keep up a facade that only hinders your healing, then He can come in and touch your bleeding heart. Then He can speak to you, and invade your life with His love.
You can't make yourself patient, or courageous, or generous, or compassionate, or trusting overnight. But you can choose to stop what you are doing and ask God to change you. You can choose to keep speaking to Him even when you want to give Him the cold shoulder.
And you can choose to keep walking. Because suffering produces perseverance, and perseverance produces character, and character produces hope, but it's not an instantaneous process. Suffering doesn't produce hope immediately. First, you have to endure the shitty stuff. Then you become a stronger, wiser person because of the lessons you have learned from the shitty stuff. Then you have hope when you are a good way through the shitty stuff, because as you get stronger and wiser, you suddenly realize that He really is there, walking through it with you, loving You constantly, and that's why you have survived it.
But all this takes time. And that perseverance, that character, that hope?
It's another layer on the apple.
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