Growing up in Western Kansas required us to be creative
regarding entertainment. In fact, I should probably issue a formal apology to
my neighbors for the countless times they heard a knock on their door only to
find no one there. Or even worse, to open the door to see a little brown bag on
fire waiting for them to stomp it out, and without knowing it, submerge their
shoe in poo.
Lord, I apologize.
One of the more productive forms of entertainment we
participated in was prairie dog hunting. You may think it sounds cruel to blast
prairie dogs with high powered rifles, and like Olympic judges, rate their
flips and turns as they landed flat on their backs, but it was actually good
for the crops.
As entertaining as it was, it usually didn’t last long. As
soon as the first shot rang out, the prairie dogs would scurry about and nose
dive into their holes. They would then spend lengthy periods of time buried
under ground hiding in the safety of their burrows.
I never discovered how long they actually stayed in hiding
after the sound of the first blast (far too impatient to wait), but I am assuming
they eventually mustered enough courage to breathe fresh air again. Imagine a
young and vulnerable prairie dog hearing the screaming bullets for the
first time and making a vow to never come out again. Even years after the
threat is gone, there he is still shaking with fear in his burrow afraid to
surface and join the rest of the prairie dog community.
Lord, I apologize.
The more I have the opportunity to sit across from people
and listen to their stories, the more I realize that this is precisely what
happens to the heart. I have lost track of the number of times I have heard the
same theme surface in counseling sessions. In essence, it goes like this: Something
painful happens in a person’s life—often times in their early years—and the
heart gets buried in order to avoid experiencing the pain and to keep it from
happening again. The person then learns how to live a much “safer” life (John
Eldredge calls it “posing”) where the heart is nowhere to be found.
The problem with burying the heart is that it’s actually the
“wellspring of life” (Proverbs 4:23).
When you cut off the heart, you are going to experience drought. I looked into the desperate eyes of someone
this week and listened to them say, “I feel so dry. I’m tired of hiding.”
That simple acknowledgement is such an important step in
their journey towards abundant life.
It’s the life God created all of us to experience. Jesus extended an
incredible invitation as he proclaimed, “I have come that you may have life and
have it abundantly.” (John 10:10)
In order to taste the richness of this truth, we must
invite him into the depths of the heart. We must surrender the heart into his
steady and faithful hands and allow him to do what he does best--create beauty from ashes. This is a daily
process of inviting him into the very places we’re tempted to bury and hide.
As you continually respond to his invitation by extending your own invitation to him, you’ll learn to trust him on a deep level. You’ll see how
loves, heals, redeems, and even leads us to repentance.
Perhaps this repentance will even include your neighborhood
antics from your teenage years. Say it with me…
Lord, I apologize.
No comments:
Post a Comment