Dominoes and an impolite Jesus

Sometimes change isn't comfortable. God never promised you that you would be.

At the very end of the post last week about grown up decisions, I had origonally written out a paragraph about feeling as though God had set up a number of dominoes and was simply waiting for the right time to knock them all down. I ended up deleting the graph because it didn't quite fit with the rest of the post, but it stuck with me.

The phrase came to mind again this afternoon during a conversation with a fellow churchgoer after today's service -- there are pieces God has been setting in place in readiness for some big change.

The music team met and, for really the first time, discussed bettering what we do on Sundays. The teaching today was a little awkward at first, but raw and powerful and honest. It was transparent, and began to break down longstanding barriers of fear.

I've no idea what the dominoes will look like when they fall, but I think back to a few days ago when I asked God to clear my mind of earthly solutions to problems and instead work wonders that I couldn't imagine. The Lord provided for me that day, and in a way I hadn't really considered.

I find it interesting that there are bricks being laid for a new foundation at my morning-church in the same way that the Lord is laying bricks for a new foundation in my life. Perhaps the biggest lesson I've learned over the last few weeks is that I can relax and allow myself to focus on growing in Christ instead of attempting to force sin from my life.

I've always been reminded of the song that begins, 'Come, just as you are, to worship.' For a long time, that phrase seemed like it had to do with what you looked like Sunday school. It's taken on an entirely different meaning for me.

I can't allow sins and struggles to keep me from letting God speak into my life. If I spend too much time focusing on being better and on erradicating bad habits and bad choices, it becomes really easy to drown out God's teaching.

Think of it this way: don't be so busy rowing that you forget to raise the sails.

It's always stuck in my mind to ask God to fill me so full of himself that there isn't really room for anything else. All the bad things, the habits, the additions, the wandering thoughts -- all those things are gone, not because I forced them to leave and was left empty, but because I swapped them for the things of Christ.

There's no gap, and no waiting period in between the two. God isn't polite enough to ask for a nice, clear space in my heart, and I hope that I become more aggressive in asking God to take my heart by force.

In that same breath, I hope to continue -- or to be more transparent, begin -- to ask God to be so present in my life that I cannot ignore Him and the things he does. It's something I found scribbled on a piece of paper when I cleaned out my trunk a few days ago, and I think it captures a longing I had years ago for a time in which I would grow and prosper.

That time is now.