August 22, 2011

• Gimme My Fries!

  There’s this story of a little boy and his dad.

  The little boy wanted some nice, hot, toasty french fries from McDonald’s. (I promise, I am not the little boy.) So he told his dad, “Dad, I’d like some french fries.” His dad, thinking about the fruitful day that had passed, agreed. “Son,” he said, “let’s take a trip.” The boy got in the car, excited about the prospects of a french fry meal. 

  The story continues well. The boy’s dad pulls under the golden arches, and instead of the drive-thru, he parks, and with his son’s small hand in his, they walk into the restaurant. At the counter, with anticipation in his heart of the happiness ahead, the dad orders not just a small fry, but a happy meal (a cheeseburger with no meat, of course) and pays for the food. 

  The son is ecstatic.

  They choose a booth to sit in, and offer prayer. The boy’s dad smiles as he watches his son happily pop a fry into his mouth and take a sip of apple juice. “Thank you, Daddy!” The dad’s heart is warmed, and wanting to share in the experience, he reaches over for a french fry for himself. To his surprise, the boy thrusts his arms around the tray, and protectively draws it closer to himself.

  “No, daddy! These are mine!”

  
  

  To clarify again, this story is not about me. Well, this is not a “this little boy was me” story, anyhow. Because really, this story is about me. I’ve been so protective over my blessings that I’ve forgotten that everything good was given by God to begin with. That His hand reaching over is not something I should defend myself–or what I have–from.

  He doesn’t need my fries.

  The reason I have fries to begin with is because He gave them to me. He bought them. He drove me there. He listened.

  He gave me a lot more than just fries. He gave me a whole meal. And a toy, to boot.

  There’s no way I can protect my fries from God. (OK, so we’re not talking about fries anymore.)

  If God wanted, he could have super-duper-amazing-sized my fries that if I tried to eat them all, I’d die.

  He could.

  And really, what are two fries? To a child, the begin all, end all. A matter of the heart. 

  It always feels like it’s a lot bigger than a few fries.  

  God took some of my fries recently. And I was not happy about it. In fact, I was a little upset. I felt betrayed. Robbed. Misunderstood. Hurt. Like I’d have to defend my fries from Him. Like next time His hand reached over, I’d flinch. Because He’s a taker. I’m being super honest here. I mean, God has taken some of my fries before, but not like this. What made it different? I’m still sorting through that rubble. 

  

  And I’ve seen many other people struggle through similar rubbles. It’s the same heart-wrenching questions:

  Where is God when it hurts?

  Where is God when my most earnest, heartfelt, genuine, good-for-the-world prayers aren’t answered?

  Where is God when my childlike faith seems to be trampled?

  Why would God do that to me?

  Why did God take him/her/that away?

  I thought I knew the answers to all these questions. And I do. But knowing the answers and really experiencing it is different. And when I say “experience” I don’t mean the experience of knowing it’ll be ok. I’m talking about “experience” as in really, you don’t know if it will be ok.  Sounds intense, doesn’t it? It’s amazing how a thread threatens to break. And all I know is that the only thing that saved me from being shipwrecked was Christ Himself. 

  Would it be sacrilegious to say that the picture of Jesus in this story would be someone with a fry in His hand? A cholesterol-free, good-for-you kind?

  OK, no. That’s not what saved me about Jesus. What saved me was the reminder of His tenderness. His desire to uplift and care and shelter and defend. His attitude towards little children. His response to Judas’ betrayal. His response to Peter’s betrayal. His walk to the Cross. Those are the things that shook me from throwing my arms around my dinky happy meal. From pouting because I was short a few fries. From feeling hurt that He’s do something like that to me. From believing God was a taker. 

  And why? Because I thought what I had was mine. Because I don’t know how to share. I have such a hard grip on the things that I love that I forget that it’s not mine. And because of that, nothing made sense. When God wanted to share, I wanted to horde. When God wanted to teach, I wanted to be the teacher. When the lessons piled on, I took notes but I was still frowning. I wanted to write a banner with “Life is Difficult!” etched on it and fling it around on my little helicopter in the sky.

  And when nothing else worked, God left me to my own devices. My own little buoys. My own little sparks. My own little microwave where I can make my own little fries. And you know what? I prefer the real deal. The deep fryer. (I may be stretching this analogy at this point.) And I realized that surrender isn’t something that happens on paper, or in the mind, or via the lips. It’s not a realization. It’s not even a decision. It’s not even a one time deal. Sometimes the lessons come back. Hard. 

  True surrender is an action. It’s an experience. It’s something you do. And usually, it’s something you have to learn. This kind of thing doesn’t happen on a sunny deck when everything is going a-ok. 

  So I surrender. Again. 

  

  My spiritual life is like the temperate deciduous forest. It has all four seasons. Sometimes the climate changes suddenly. It seems to be cyclical. Over and over again, seemingly the same old thing. But although the change seems repetitive, it’s not the same old tree. Through the seasons, the tree outside my office window has gotten at least 2 feet taller since I’ve been at this school. The one outside the boys’ dorm had a branch split off during a recent storm. And as for me, I endure the seasons, and I come out never the same old me.

  I am ever the more grateful for a God who loves me. I am ever amazed and ever astounded and ever overwhelmed. And I am ever amazed at the one who will do anything and everything to see me fall. The one who will hold nothing back, and craft the most well-planned and well-executed three-hundred-pronged attack ever seen. And that’s probably just the first wave.

  So here’s to sharing my fries. Not only with God, but with everyone else. Here’s to being a steward with my fries. Here’s to letting God mess around with my fries. Here’s to knowing that it’s not just about fries, but about the things I value most in my life. Friends. Family. My students. Time. Energy. Being blessed. Happiness. Life. Health. Peace.

  Here’s to not putting a weak little barricade up.

  Here’s to another season with the King. He wants to share. I want to want to share with Him. 

  “His master replied, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!’” Matthew 25:21

  Has God ever taken your fries? 

  • 9:32 pm
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