The heart of striving

Striving is a trend in my life. I've actually always seen this as a good thing. I try to be always moving forward, always learning something new, always developing some new ability or eliminating some old habit, always growing. At surface level, not a problem. Learning, development, abilities, death of bad habits, growth... all good things!

But a couple of weeks ago, I looked in a different mirror than the one I had previously been using, and this mirror allowed me to see what was at the heart of my striving, and it was a startling discovery.

I was striving to earn the love of God. Striving to prove myself worthy, striving to show myself to Him as a good investment... striving to earn His love. But I couldn't ever quite get there. But I kept trying. But I just couldn't.

And this striving was at the root of everything else. I was striving in ministry, striving in friendships, striving in fitness, striving at work, striving at home, striving and wondering why my striving hadn't brought me a husband yet-- must just need to strive harder, right?

It is so exhausting to walk through life with the burden of trying to prove yourself at every juncture. It feels a little bit like being in a boat on a river just above a disastrous waterfall and rowing upstream for your life. All day. Every day. And every once in a while, you look to the right or the left and realize that the boat is slowly slipping farther downstream and that you are not, in fact, gaining ground. And you're certainly not enjoying the river or the scenery, because all you can think about is the inevitable moment when you will fly over the edge and someone will yell out as you go screaming by, "Hey, you didn't quite row hard enough!"

It's the heart of the older brother in the parable of the prodigal son. He's out in the field, striving, and his famously un-striving younger brother comes home and gets a party for doing nothing but screwing up and then crawling back. And when the father comes out to track down the older brother, he turns and says, probably with tension in his shoulders and tears in his eyes and a bitter taste in his mouth, "Don't you see me striving? Haven't I done enough yet to earn your love?" And the father says, with regret and compassion and willingness, "I have always loved you, and I have always been ready to celebrate you, but you would never stop striving long enough to come to the party."

You are enough. Right now, you are enough. And He'll love you if you do more, but He'll also love you if you never change, and He'll even love you if you turn and run the other way. Not any more or any less, but with everything He has and everything He is, because that's what He does.