Whenever my kids require discipline for something, their favorite excuse is “but I wasn’t trying to!” “Don’t be mean to your brother!” “I wasn’t trying to!” “You only half-cleaned the dishes; all these are still dirty.” “I wasn’t trying to!” Somehow, in their minds, lack of effort in one direction equals actual effort in the opposite direction.
Luke records a parable Jesus told about a man who had been possessed by a demon. The demon was cast out, but after wandering for a while decided to return. He found the space he had occupied within the man empty, bare. It was so wide open and inviting that the demon found seven other demons to join him in possessing the man once again, so that the man was much worse off than before.
My kids and the man in the story have the same approach to life. I’m sure if someone had said something to the man about letting demons invade his soul he would have said, “But I’m not trying to!” Sure, his mind wasn’t full of evil, but he had made no effort to fill it with anything once it had been cleaned.
How often do we behave this way about spiritual things? We feel satisfied with ourselves because we “aren’t trying to disobey;” maybe we even boast about it a little bit like the Pharisee praying in the public place. The truth is that “not trying to” requires no effort. It’s easy because it literally involves doing nothing. Unfortunately, nothing produces nothing, leaving a gaping space in our souls empty and unguarded.
My kids have to learn the hard way that “I wasn’t trying to” needs to become “I’m trying to do better.” As children they are focused on what feels good in the moment; they haven’t learned the consequences of nothing, and they haven’t experienced the fulfillment that comes from effort. Those experiences will come in time. For now they have someone to remind them, to guide them through the consequences, to show them how to be productive. As adults we have no excuse. No one else is responsible for our choices. No one else will do our work for us. No one is looking over our shoulder to make sure we take the next step. It’s up to us whether we are empty houses of “not trying to” or filled with the work of God.
Romans 2:4–8 (CSB): Or do you despise the riches of his kindness, restraint, and patience, not recognizing that God’s kindness is intended to lead you to repentance? Because of your hardened and unrepentant heart you are storing up wrath for yourself in the day of wrath, when God’s righteous judgment is revealed. He will repay each one according to his works: eternal life to those who by persistence in doing good seek glory, honor, and immortality; but wrath and anger to those who are self-seeking and disobey the truth while obeying unrighteousness.
I wasn’t feeling inspired, so as I often do I asked my kids what story they saw. Today’s flash fiction is therefore brought to you by twelve-year-old Sarah (edited and embellished by me).
Becky, Malcolm, and Josephine were emotionally broken people, so broken that they were sent to an asylum for healing. While there, the three became friends and wandered the grounds together every day. They stumbled upon an old, forgotten garden, weed-choked and wild.
The three were drawn to the garden, and asked the director for fertilizer, seeds, and tools to reclaim the overgrown plot. They spent every free moment in the garden, hoeing and pruning, clearing vines and saplings, fertilizing neglected soil, and planting new flowers. As time passed and their garden thrived, they found that they, too, had healed.
The three called everyone at the asylum to see the fruits of their labor, and everyone found peace and comfort in its beauty. Becky, Malcolm, and Josephine passed the work to their fellow patients and returned to their homes, where they lived freely and happily for the rest of their lives.
2000 years ago, the Romans possessed the skill to build aqueducts using stone blocks shaped by hand and stacked without mortar into columns and arches over thirty feet high, with more layers of arches on top. They laid roads of stone that spanned an empire stretching from India to Great Britain to Africa. Both were feats of engineering that still stand largely untouched and usable today, baffling and challenging modern architects. Yet humanity has come so far?
Five thousand years ago, the Egyptians built massive pyramidal monuments to their dead kings. Using methods we can only guess at, they carved and hauled multiton blocks of stone up an incline and set them together so closely that a sheet of paper can’t fit between them. The pyramids still stand as marvels of engineering, marked but far from disintegrated by time. Yet humanity has come so far?
Three thousand years ago, the Mayan people built stepped temples of stone that rose high above the rainforest canopy to celebrate the sun. They carved complex astronomical calenders into solid rock to order their lives. The people are long gone, along with all record of their lives except for those untouched temples and carvings. The stone still rises above the trees, perfect feats of architecture preserved from a hidden past. Yet humanity has come so far?
Roughly three or four thousand years ago, an ancient semitic nation carved their lives inch by inch out of the desert mountains. Slowly their rough cave settlements grew into vast cities, polished red sandstone walls gleaming and ornate gateways towering over grand entrances. The people with the dream to create these monumental dwellings had no fear of the desert; they also possessed the knowledge and technology to pipe water into the city through sophisticated systems from nearby springs and rainwater cisterns. This indomitable people faded into history, replaced by interlopers and usurpers, but their mountain cities still stand to awe modern travellers. Yet humanity has come so far?
Two thousand years ago, a tribal people in the Peruvian desert left their unique mark upon the face of the earth itself. With precise geometric knowledge and application, the Nazca etched stylized drawings of native animals into the rocky desert floor, along with a complex system of perfectly straight lines that stretched for miles. The drawings are so large they cannot be viewed in entirety from the desert floor; they must be viewed from the distant mountain peaks or from the air. No one now knows why the Nazca created their mathematically precise art, but despite millenia it is still visible and wondered at by modern civilization. Yet humanity has come so far?
Some thousands of years ago, knowledge was handed down through song. Children were apprenticed early to scholars, who painstakingly tutored them until they could recite every word and intonation perfectly. Religion, history, and science were all passed from generation to generation in complex rhymes and rhythms; tales of heros like Beowulf and Gilgamesh shared memory with medical instruction. Not a word was lost and much knowledge was added over centuries of time, without a word being written down. Yet humanity has come so far?
A little less than a thousand years ago, every book was created by hand. Tools were handmade and carefully customized by the artist, who then mixed his own pigments and meticulously painted every letter and line of every page. A single page represented days of work and incredible artistry, with intricate scripts enhanced by brilliantly detailed images and scrollwork. Yet humanity has come so far?
It’s a bad word in our society, a lightning rod that attracts every social argument imaginable. Manual laborers view with contempt those who work with their minds, considering them lazy and out of touch with reality. Those in intellectually focused professions look down on manual laborers, certain that no one with ambition would waste time working with their hands. Both despise those who work in entertainment, considering them lazy, immoral, or both. Then, of course, there are those who receive public aid; whether or not due to true need seems irrelevant, whether they are exalted or despised.
Work as a concept is not that complicated. It is the process by which one contributes to one’s society. Every individual has a contribution to make, a way to work, that is unique to him or herself. That contribution may or may not be one that requires specialized knowledge. It may or may not include clocking in for a boss. It may or may not produce what are considered survival necessities. But it is still a necessary contribution.
Animals spend their lives chasing survival. They have little if any other motivation. They have no capacity for appreciation, for individuality, for true creativity. Only humans have such abilities, and as possessor of them, we are not meant merely to survive. We are meant not only to feed, clothe and shelter ourselves, but to learn, to imagine, to produce beauty and laughter, to touch hearts with language, to challenge each other in image or song.
The Creator declared the laborer worthy of his hire. What makes a farmer more entitled to compensation than a poet? What makes a doctor more entitled to compensation than an electrician? What makes a retail worker more entitled than a football player or actor more entitled than an entrepreneur? Does the poet do less work because it was mostly internal and not easily quantifiable? Does the entrepreneur not deserve the same recognition of talent and dedication to their dreams as the actor?
By the same token, because we are designed with such great potential, our lives should not be reduced to a daily grind. Our work should be drawn from our passions and character, and should encompass everything that is important to us as individuals. If we thought this way, the woman who chooses to balance time with her family as well as set hours performing a task for money would not be criticized. The man who pours all his resources into crafting products for sale and whose wife and children work alongside him would be heralded for his efforts instead of vilified for demanding fair pay for his efforts. The poet who poured her troubled soul into song to relieve another’s pain would never be expected to share her gift without pay. Every work would be understood to be essential, and would be compensated as essential.
Recently I posted a series of questions on social media. I wanted, and received, feedback revealing how we as a society understand certain concepts that are central to a civilization. Need, work, and identity are necessary in order for a culture to thrive, but perception of what constitutes those things varies widely. When those varying perceptions clash in a battle of wills, a civilization teeters on the brink of collapse. Differences of opinion don’t have to be a death knell, however; if considered carefully without prejudice, they can become a stronger, more stable framework that incorporates every possibility.
As evidenced by many of the answers given, we often get stuck in one pattern of thinking, a pattern that applied to a particular society with particular tools at a particular time. We look back with disdain on past eras, talk with pride about progress, celebrate increased opportunity for prosperity, while at the same time treating everything that led to our current situation with contempt. New ideas, different opportunities, can’t be good ones because our grandparents didn’t have them. New tools must be luxuries because our grandparents didn’t need them. Little consideration is given to how new ideas, new opportunities, and new tools changed the civilization in which we live.
As little as a hundred years ago, the automobile was unaffordable by all but the wealthiest. Roads were narrow and unpaved, traveled by pedestrians or horse-drawn vehicles. Some of the bigger cities might have the convenience of streetcars or elevated trains, and long distance travel relied on the railroads, but even those were recent developments. Communities were smaller and more self-sufficient; schools were smaller, with their primary focus teaching basic literacy skills, as children entered the workforce early to contribute to the family’s support. The children were educated in the factories, the fields, the construction sites, or if they were very lucky, behind the counter of a store. The arts were expensive pursuits that the common citizen could not afford to pursue and that the wealthy, although they enjoyed the entertainment gleaned from artistic production, considered demeaning. The wealthy, focused on increasing their wealth and status, pursued a classical higher education and built careers in business or politics. Information about the world outside one’s immediate community was limited to rumors or newspapers, and arrived slowly if at all. Telephones existed but were expensive and often communal.
Now, a century forward, our nation would be unrecognizable to the people of the past. Not only are automobiles so common that roads, communities, and cities are built around access by car, but the train has been made obsolete by air travel, a possibility barely even imagined at that time. Schools are not only available to the average citizen, but require attendance of every child under a certain age. Not only does every citizen have access to higher education, but lack of a college degree has become a barrier to employment or advancement. Not only are telephones common, but the invention and development of computer technology has turned phones into handheld instant access to information and long distance communication. Improvements in transportation and communication opened up the world beyond the community, allowing the average citizen access to opportunities impossible in small communities. Family businesses can now become large corporations with worldwide customer bases in a relatively short amount of time thanks to the ability to network and market via the internet. Creative pursuits are now not only possible for the average citizen but often extremely profitable, even independent of established circles.
The world has changed, and with it the definitions of concepts. Bare subsistence by the definitions of a hundred years ago is now considered a moral standard to be achieved, as if barely avoiding starvation and exposure in a world of plenty makes one virtuous. The opportunity of exercising one’s God created individuality by using one’s God-given abilities to support oneself has expanded the definition of work and jobs, yet we cling to the outdated insistence that only doing manual labor in the employment of another is “real work.” Intellectual pursuits, although glorified in the form of insistence on college attendance, are still despised as leaching off of the “real workers” of the world. Those same opportunities only exist using the great connective powers of modern technology, making technology a necessity in our culture, yet we call it a luxury and religiously advocate to prevent the pursuit of our God-created identities.
A hundred years ago these opportunities did not exist. People didn’t have a choice. The average able-bodied citizen was forced to ignore and repress individuality in order to survive. Life was hard and the people who endured it often equally so. Those who possessed physical or mental disabilities couldn’t conceive of even the limited opportunities available to the able-bodied and able-minded. Most were institutionalized, tortured with experimental treatments for conditions that no one understood, and often died young. Some few with undeniable gifts in the arts found patrons who allowed them a semblance of a normal life, but even they were often ostracized by society for “scandalous” behavior and ended up self-destructing. Their lives held no value to other humans because as far as society was concerned they could not contribute a fair share.
In our age of information, understanding, and opportunity, attitudes haven’t changed. Oh, we talk a good game, but we still insist that everyone meet the same standards, perform the same work in the same way, rise to the same challenges, produce the same outcomes. In an age where individuality is so obvious and tools are so readily available, we despise differences and try to force uniformity. In an age of plenty, we try to force poverty. In an age of information, we try to force ignorance. In an age of opportunity, we try to force disadvantage.
In this incredible time and place, we have the greatest of opportunities. We can choose to value every life, every contribution, every ability, every effort, and every challenge without prejudice. We can support the intellectual and the manual laborer with equal respect to the different types of effort required. We can accept the vast amount of time and skill required to produce an artistic endeavor and take time to enjoy the result with respect that the artist cared to bring joy into our lives in the form of entertainment. We can provide relief for our loved ones who suffer from visible or invisible differences in ability, and ensure them the opportunity to contribute in their own equally valuable way. We can recognize that need is as individual as individuals, and support each other without disdain or dismissal. We can break away from conformity made unnecessary by opportunity, and choose to celebrate the designed individuality of every member of God’s creation.
Today my husband and I spent the day outdoors. It’s the height of autumn here in the south, and this year has brought us a particularly fine one. The normally green beauty of the woods has flamed with color, and the lake bottom is rusty with orange and purple.
I revel in the crisper air and the brilliant color that coats the world for such a brief moment, but we didn’t go out to appreciate that today. Everyone with eyes can see that flamboyant display whether they try or not. We went in search of something a little less obvious.
There is perfection buried in the shade of those bright leaves, but not everyone can see it. Some are overwhelmed by the blatant beauty and are convinced it is enough. Others may realize there is more to see but don’t know how to find it.
What do you see in the picture? Leaves? Look closer. Now what do you see? Deep in a hole full of dead leaves, a hole I might have stepped in had I been focused on the canopy above, grew these tiny, fragile mushrooms. So small and delicate that a touch might break them, they clung to the side of the hole and peeked around the edges of the protective leaves.
Much about life, about people, is obvious. The way we look, the way we act, the things we say are all the blazing leaves on the trees, impossible to miss. But what is hiding on the floor of that brilliant forest? Do you know how to look? It doesn’t take special education. It doesn’t take titles or notoriety. It requires time taken to step slowly and gently. It requires leaning in to examine every inch of ground for what is hidden. It requires the gentlest of touches to shift protective leaves away from the fragile thoughts and feelings buried deep within.
There is so much unexpected beauty to be found. If you know how to look.
When people talk about parenting challenges, they usually talk about toddlers or teenagers. No one really addresses the middle years, the years of learning, discovery, and character shaping. My ten year old son is right smack in the middle of those years.
For several months now his behavior has been, well, challenging. We’ve been unable to curb a tendency to bully, and chores have been more miss than hit. We won’t even mention the lack of respect shown toward us as parents. Fortunately, my husband had a clue.
Last week he relinquished ownership of one ax to our son. Instead of taking a turn at things like dishes and laundry, our son is now responsible for making sure we don’t freeze this winter. We have wood heat, so my husband cuts and hauls all our wood himself. This year, he will run the chain saw and our ten year old will split and haul, as well as help keep the heater full.
The change in his attitude was immediate. No more bullying, no more disrespect. He is proud of that ax, and proud that he cuts a little deeper every time he swings as his strength grows. He even wakes up in the middle of the night to check the heater! He’s still a little boy with a lot to learn, and it will be a while before he can perform this job perfectly and without any help, but he stands taller already.
You see, every human being needs purpose. Not just any purpose, but the one God created for them to own. Skills like washing dishes or laundry, while necessary for all humans to know, chafe at a boy seeking to direct his developing testosterone and strength. He is made to work hard, to challenge his limits, to protect and provide for those upon whom he bestows emotional attachment. Keeping the fire going may seem like a small thing, but for a ten year old it becomes purpose.
We’ve talked often in our home about work, but as we have recently admitted, our culture has stripped much of our true purpose out of work. Women, who once spent their days keeping the family fed, clothed, and nurtured with the direct labor of her hands and heart now chafes with time on her hands and her labor replaced by technology and machines. Men, who once tested their endurance against the elements to house their families and prepare the ground to produce food, who once set their minds to outwitting the instincts of animals in order to harness their power or harvest their meat, now chafe at desks and try to bury their frustration in virtual combat. Children, who once filled critical roles as assistants in house and barn, now seek endless stimulation and chafe at chores artificially assigned by parents desperate to teach some semblance of responsibility in a world that requires none.
I appreciate so much of the convenience we experience in our modern culture. We have so many blessings that the denizens of yesteryear never imagined. But unless we in some way return immediate and created purpose to our work, for both ourselves and our children, those same blessings feed the endless misery of an empty life.
An old hymn from 1758 begins with the words: “O thou Fount of every blessing, tune my heart to sing Thy praise.” These days we have all sorts of electronic gadgets and apps for instrument tuning, which takes some of the meaning out of the phrase. When I began taking music lessons, a few decades ago, I was given a simple tool called a tuning fork instead.
Instead of many notes, electronically replicated at the touch of a button, a tuning fork produces one. One clear, smooth, beautiful note from which all others can be discovered. Tuning requires much more work and a deeper understanding of music, but the process is actually quite simple. Strike the metal fork against a hard surface so that it vibrates with a perfect, pure, natural sound.
Similarly, God is the one note to which all others are tuned. There is nothing artificial about Him. Tuning our hearts to produce the same note requires work. Often it requires being struck again and again until we finally find the right note. Then when we have managed to match that first frequency, when the remaining cadence of our lives jars discordant against it, the even harder work begins to tune it all to a perfect scale from which the song of thanksgiving can be sung.
One day we will meet Him face to face, and all the voices of the faithful, tuned by trial, error, and dedication, will sing the new song of triumph and love.
How many times have you heard people complain about something wrong or unpleasant then demand that someone do something to fix that problem? Throughout history this has been a common human reaction. If we are honest as individuals, we have probably all done it at some point.
The prophet Samuel accomplished a great deal with his example of faith, drawing Israel as a nation back into relationship with God. Sadly, as Samuel grew old and less able to be active throughout the nation, evidence mounted that something was still missing in the hearts of the people. They came to him demanding not just a replacement in Samuel’s role as spiritual guide and civil judge, but a king. When, at God’s instruction, Samuel warned the people what their request really meant, that missing piece left them unable to listen.
Samuel warned them that having a king meant that their children would be conscripted to fight in wars of the king’s choosing and work on the king’s property. Their property would be subject to seizure and use by the king. They would be required to pay whatever taxes the king required in order to pay his own household or desired to enrich himself. They would lose their freedom and become subject to the king’s demands in every aspect of their lives.
The Israelites weren’t interested in any problems that would come in the future. Not even the example of Samuel’s errant sons taking advantage of them carried his point home to them. Their answer to Samuel’s warning holds a sad commentary, not only on Israel’s failure to grasp God’s will, but on the deep failing of humanity since the garden. They wanted someone else to solve their problems. They wanted someone else to fight their battles. They wanted someone else to take a stand. They wanted someone else to be responsible so they didn’t have to.
God gave them exactly what they wanted. He appointed the epitome of human ideal to be their king. Saul was physically imposing, standing taller than any other man, and was considered extremely attractive. He looked good in the role. He even appeared to have an attitude of humility, expressing confusion that he would be chosen and hiding when called to be crowned.
When the time came to prove himself, Saul proved to have as little desire for responsibility as the people who demanded the creation of his role. He proved to be concerned only with what benefited himself, what promoted his own image and ensured the continuation of his own power. He could never admit fault, and he could never see ahead to the consequences of his decisions. Not only did the Israelites fall prey to Saul’s own selfish whims, but his inner weakness plunged many of them back into slavery to their enemies as piece by piece the land God gave them was lost.
Ultimately, this outwardly perfect specimen of humanity, the pride of the Israelite nation, the one they demanded carry their own responsibility, cowered in his palace while a boy no one considered noteworthy offered himself as the price of faith and won God’s gift back for His people. You see, it wasn’t a king the people needed. It was the willingness to step up as individuals and serve the King who already reigned, as Samuel had and as David would. The easy decision, the temporary reprieve, always comes at an insurmountable cost. Make the hard one. Choose the responsibility God created us to possess. We don’t need a king.
When God called Moses from the burning bush, Moses already knew God. He had already felt a calling to help his people, a purpose greater than himself. Because his early efforts had failed, what he did not feel was equipped. He pleaded to be excused from the task because he did not think he had the tools to do it. God sent him anyway.
When Jezebel put a price on Elijah’s head, Elijah already knew God. He was a wanted man because he had taken a stand for God in the face of powerful retribution. He didn’t flee and hide because he didn’t believe in the cause, but because he felt discouraged. No one stood with him, and he could see nothing but lonely failure. God fed him, let him rest, then sent him back to stand again anyway.
When Saul’s entire focus bent toward killing David, the future king already knew God. Saul hated him because his great trust in the Lord had brought victory and respect of which Saul was unworthy. David didn’t flee Israel because he rejected God, and even in self-imposed exile he tried to help God’s people. He fled because he was tired and afraid. Not only was he in danger himself, but his entire family and thousands who supported him stood to lose their lives. God reminded him that danger was everywhere and sent him back to keep fighting anyway.
When Jesus sat in the garden facing death in the morning, He was God. He wept and trembled, not because He didn’t believe in His plan, but from the pain and grief of knowing what the people He loved would do, the suffering that was necessary for them to cause Him before they would understand His love. The angels comforted Him and He faced the cross anyway.
When the storm threatened the disciples’ ship, they already knew God. He was in the boat with them. They panicked, not because they weren’t aware of Him, but because they weren’t used to relying on Him. They thought they had faith because they believed He could save them. Jesus said they had none because they didn’t believe that He would.
So often we run – from the storm, from the task, from the danger. Perhaps we feel unequal to the challenge, think we lack tools needed to be successful. Perhaps we feel alone and cannot see how one person could make a difference. Perhaps the enemy is so massive that we see no other option but to hide, to pretend we are something other than we are. Perhaps the cost is so high, the loss so painful, that we must weep and tremble for a while. Perhaps we really do believe that, although God exists, we are still on our own.
It’s time to let God send us back to stand. Trust that He is equipped whether we are or not. Know that whether or not any human stands with us we are not alone. Shine against the pain of the world’s betrayal of our God. Let His peace still the storm.
The Word Worker 
