Wednesday, July 26, 2023

[New post] Organizing and Making Room for Jesus: What Will It Take? Three Things (At Least)

Organizing and Making Room for Jesus: What Will It Take? Three Things (At Least)

Sue Donaldson

Jul 26

Bethany's been organizing and trying to make room for everything she wants and thinks she needs for a cross-country move. Chicago here she comes!

Of course, in the middle of the process, there's a mess. She's a spreader-outer and things look worse before they get better.

I'm the same way so when she called out from upstairs, "Mom, it looks bad but it will get better. It's just how I pack!" I wasn't worried and tried to stay out of her way.

She probably knew it wouldn't bother me, recalling the multiple times she'd hear: "Has anyone seen the sour cream?" I would call, while tossing limp carrots over one shoulder, and something-green-that-didn't-used-to-be over the other. "I know I have sour cream!"

No one answered. My family was used to my frustrated forays into the fridge, shifting items here and there, searching for the next thing to complete a recipe, a meal, a peace-filled mind.

I don't pretend to be an organized person. I like the results of organization, just not the process. In light of that, I asked our youngest daughter, Mary Grace, for a gift: "Would you please organize my pantry as my birthday present?" Her answer surprised me: "Will you pay for the containers?" I said, "Yes." (They weren't cheap. We took multiple trips to TJMaxx.)

I had no idea what I was getting into. A few days later, we began. Mary commandeered the space like Washington crossing the Delaware. She took out every item—things I hadn't seen for decades. Lined them up, categorized, made labels and declared in a calm, but firm, voice: "Mom, your job is to eliminate!" If I dared move an item back into place, she quietly repeated, "Mom, your job is to eliminate. We don't have a system yet." Not understanding exactly what she meant, I humbly took my place behind the 47 spices and began tossing.

As we neared the finish line, and began placing items back in the lovely new containers, I tried to scooch things over to fit more in, and again, Mary stopped me. "Mom, it's okay to leave space on the shelf." Mary's an artist.

I think she meant "space" as in, it looked better and was restful to the eye. I'm practical. In my mind, if there's space, it needs something to fill it up.

Mary, celebrating her work. I celebrate her!

God is an artist and practical. He wants to breathe peace into my life, for my sake and for any others who might be in direct line of some limp carrots. He wants the world to peek over my shoulder and see a woman at rest with her Savior. And He knows the only way for that to happen is if I create space for Him. In a way much like our Mary, He gently but firmly whispers, "Your job is to eliminate what hides Me from your line of sight. Make room for Me, Sue. And you will find all you that you're looking for."

MAKING ROOM—WHERE TO BEGIN?

Much like my unorganized refrigerator and overcrowded pantry, my life can be so filled with good stuff, that I can't find what I need when I need it, and what I need most is God, Himself. He's there for the finding, but if I don't make room, He can get buried under good intentions, works without faith, and service without love.

In some vague way, even spiritual spectators know they need God, but do they know it's God Who they need—not only His blessings or guidance? All too often I, too, can find myself treasuring the gifts more than the Giver. At 15 I told the Lord, "I'm all Yours." And again at 20. And again at 31. It's a telling worth repeating. But in my mid-to-late years, He repeats as often as needed: "Sue, make room for Me—not just for my blessings—and that will be enough."

To make room for God we begin with surrender.

Alexa waited years to become pregnant. She prayed. She fasted. She begged. Finally, she had a son. Then the process began all over again while praying for a second child, including enduring five miscarriages. In the process she began to doubt her faith altogether. Finally, while studying the Bible with a group of friends, she began to know God personally and accept that in the end, He was enough. In spite of unmet desires, she surrendered completely, "Lord, no matter if we never conceive again, I'm following You." She and her husband went on to have three more children. But what mattered most to Alexa was that she came to a crossroads of faith and she chose faith, no matter what.

To make room for God, I need to live a "no matter what" kind of life. No matter how scary the future may seem or how many disappointments lie in wait, I am His.

Esther prayed a similar prayer, "Then I will go to the king, though it is against the law, and if I perish, I perish" (Esther 4:16). All-out surrendered, Esther was willing to die.

Will I die if I give God my whole life, no matter what? Maybe. A year of a worldwide pandemic gave all of us pause to consider our mortality. My job, as Mary Grace reminded me more than once, is to eliminate: my fear, my distractions, myself (like Jesus did—Matthew 16:24)

Release any vestige of holding back. To let go of the ledge and count on His safety net.

I still get scared. I don't want to relinquish all my dreams and desires. But the more I make room for Him, the easier it is to come to the crossroads, and choose faith.

WALNUTS, RICE, AND REST

Lamentations 3:21 and 22 reminds me that God comes in fresh every day to shower me with love and mercy. "The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning…"

New mercies every morning, like waking up to the fragrance of fresh-baked bread. But, what about the next twelve hours? I don't want to come to the end of the day and realize that every space was filled, but not one included Him.

How can I continue to make room for God as the day unfolds?

Begin with the walnuts.

Debbi's son is a U.S. Army Ranger. When he's deployed, he can communicate with his folks, but very briefly and with no hint of where he is or what he's doing. All classified, all dangerous. If Seth were my son, I would be a wreck. But Debbi, my dear friend, lives "at rest." She can't explain it but often says, "I only know it must be God. He's given me a peace like Paul wrote about in Philippians 4:7, the kind that can't be understood."

One other thing. Debbi has a quart jar on her kitchen counter. It's filled with rice, but if you look closely, you'll see walnuts as well. Perhaps you know the object lesson it represents.

If you try to place a dozen walnuts and three cups of rice in a jar, you don't start with the rice—you start with the walnuts. Pour the rice in first, and you won't get many nuts in the jar. But begin with the walnuts, and all the rice will flow gently down through the spaces in between.

Debbi lives daily with peace beyond measure. She's made room for God—the walnuts are in place—and she's trusting Him for the rest.

When I make room for God first, everything listed in my day planner—as well as all those unexpected interruptions and God-appointments—they all flow into place. Jesus said they would in Matthew 6:33, "But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you."

All these things today meant meeting with friends, medical appointments, writing, preparing for a coaching session, and cleaning the fridge—yes, it happens. I don't need to fret how they will all fit into today's jar. My part is to know what goes first, and leave the rest up to God. He knows how many and which things I need to do today. Tomorrow, as well.

HOW DO I KNOW I NEED TO MAKE ROOM?

A while back, one daughter called to say she was breaking up with her boyfriend. Another texted that her boss was just laid off and wondered what that could mean for her. The third daughter wasn't far behind, bemoaning her overloaded schedule and an unknown future post-grad school. All big girls with big girl issues.

Once a mom, always a mom. I can overreact with the best of them when I hear about their up's and down's, anxieties and what-if's. My friend, Bonnie is fond of saying, "We gave our kids to God at birth, and we just need to keep giving them back to Him."

How do I know I need to make room for God? I get my share of signals.

If I react instead of respond to my kids' trials and tribulations
If I haven't sensed the Spirit's prompting in a while
If I can't take a joke or I can't laugh at myself—or I don't laugh at all
If I haven't spoken to my husband other than, "Did you pick up the mail? Do you need dental floss? Will you be late on Wednesday?"
If I resent it if I get asked to do "one more thing," or my stomach gets upset just thinking about my To-Do list
If friends or family irritate or worry me more than give me joy
If I find myself complaining more than praising God, comparing more than celebrating others

All these "if's" and many more, indicate that it's high time I get some rest, to sit with Jesus and savor His goodness. Jesus gives two promises in John 16:33, "In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world."

First, we will have troubles in the world. That's a promise. Like Beth's packing project, it looks worse before it gets better. And, second, He has overcome the world.

I forget where I put that second promise if I haven't made room for God.

Making room for Jesus takes three things:

Surrendering to him (Eliminate!)

Seeking him first (Get a jar!)

Recalling his promises (Take heart!)

Which one are you pretty good at doing?

Which could use some organizing and clearing out?

Who needs to go get a jar and some rice and walnuts? Reply in comments and we'll all be encouraged.

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