Not By My Clinging

I don’t know about you, but I have a great propensity to rely heavily on the temporary and fallible. I like to park on sinking sand. And I’ve been around long enough to know instinctively that such things tend to let me down, so what do I do? I develop contingency plans: if this place where I’m standing begins to give way, I’ll just hop on over to that place. And what is that place made of? More sinking sand. So the general pattern of my life, if watched in fast-forward, is a frantic hopping from sand to sand to sand. 

I have also added rotten limbs to my repertoire. If I spot my sand sinking, I can jump up and grab hold of something just as fragile and swing down to another patch of sand just as the limb breaks from the tree. 

Essentially, I’ve created for myself an obstacle course of sinking sands and shaky limbs, and I spend 99% of my emotional energy monitoring the stability of my current support structure and plotting what I will do when it fails. On and on in a vicious cycle. 

Recently, God granted me the great grace of disintegrating my last pile of sand and shattering my last limb. There is nowhere left for me to go. My soul is shouting for a handhold or a foothold, for something tangible to cling to while I wait for something tangible to stand on. And wonder of wonders, He is hearing my shouts. And miracle of miracles, He is answering them. But grace upon grace, His answer is not what I hoped for.

As the obstacle course fades, and every grain of sand sinks from view, and every last limb disappears, reality finally comes into focus and I see what has been here all along. Under each pile of sinking sand, beneath each tree branch, lies one continuous solid layer of rock. I was never in danger of drowning or falling. There has always been rock beneath my feet. I have spent my life running and climbing, searching for the security that was always right here.

And now, as the reality sinks in, there’s nothing left for me to do except collapse on the floor, exhausted. I can make promises to myself, like No more running from sand to sand, No more swinging from limb to limb. I can imagine accomplishing life without a shaky foundation. 

In this moment, I am secure. I’ve nothing to stand on, and nothing to cling to, but - good news! - it is not by my clinging that I am made secure. 

And this Rock is not a consolation prize. It’s not the dregs left to those of us who haven’t a tangible rock. It’s the foundation for which we all were designed.

So set aside your insecurity. Plant your feet. Stand up. There’s work to be done.