The Unbending

What do an old Christmas song and a hike in Phoenix have in common? A lot, it turns out.

You know when God brings the same lesson or idea or verse into your life a thousand times? This is often how he speaks to me. The idea popping up everywhere in my life right now is leaning in to the unbending.

It all started with a line in a Renovaré newsletter.

"'God will unbend you as fast as you can stand it,' Carolyn Arends says, because God loves what he makes and restores what he loves."

Lightning bolt moment.

You know the church joke that we shouldn’t ask for patience because then God will give us an opportunity to learn it? Reading that newsletter, it clicked for me that this joke we make, this tendency to avoid character building, is dragging our feet on the very work that makes things better! Here's the idea in an extreme sense: that grumpy old man who never learned to sacrifice for another (we all know one, right?) is wildly unhappy, while Mother Teresa—sacrificial to an extreme—was at peace. I don’t want to grit my teeth and survive this life. I want to thrive! I want to play offense.

It’s been an interesting exercise to watch out for what God is teaching me through my circumstances. When do I act my worst? When do I lose my mind? What obnoxiously interrupts my peace? I’ve been thinking about that verse that says we can ask God for wisdom and he hands it out like Halloween candy.

Or, you know, “generously ... without reproach.” Same thing. So, yesterday I looked up that verse, and wha'd'ya know—this is the order of things:

2 Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, 3 for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. 4 And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing. 5 If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given him.

Asking for wisdom is related to joy from trials? It’s that leaning in idea again. A desire to be unbent. Conviction. Redemption. Sanctification. Yep, all those churchy words apply, but I like Jason Gray’s old song title—Everything Sad is Coming Untrue. So good.

Parents become exasperated by their kids. It’s a thing. But culturally it's considered hilarious. The phenomenon even made it into the song “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” … in 1951! We can “hardly wait” for our extra time as a family to come to an end? It’s sad, but it happens. A friend recently posted about deterrents from homeschooling. She encouraged that if we’re sending children to school because they’re difficult to be around for so many hours, that’s a signal that they need more time with their parents, not less. I completely agree. I’ve seen it in action in my own home. And yet … it’s hard.

Like most anything, it’s a tension. I need time to pray, time with my husband, time to be a grown up ... but not too much. My “needs” so quickly become an excuse to avoid the good, hard work I’ve been given. In other news, I had a fit this morning and waved my hands around, yelled at my husband, and acted like a crazy person.

Yepppp. Not a great look. I’m impatient. I like things “just so." I get sick of sacrificing my beloved order for the crazy that is parenting. I think God is saying, I want to help. Lean in.

My kids have been fighting a lot recently. But I don’t want to daydream about shipping my sweet little creatures off to Timbuktu. I want to lean in. Because “trials of various kinds” lead to “steadfastness,” which I want. I want to be unbent.

I’m spoiled. I got to go on an anniversary trip to Sedona, AZ with Brit a while ago. We had so much fun hiking and eating and hot tubbing and star gazing and day tripping to the Grand Canyon. On the way to the airport after the trip, Brit wanted to stop for a last hike before we flew home. Cool, let’s do it. Except, I wasn’t dressed for a hike and certainly not for the much higher Phoenix temperatures. The hike was packed with high schoolers wearing next to nothing, and I was prepared to land in Denver where it was fifteen degrees. Even losing layers and pushing my sleeves up, I looked painfully acca-awkward in my jeans and boots. Like I’d never been on a hike before.

Maybe it was my old high school survival instincts kicking in—blending in, staying invisible, avoiding teasing. Whatever it was, I felt God’s nudge. Lean in. Does how I appear to complete strangers actually impact my psyche to this degree? It’s disturbing. I don’t want to carry pride and impression management issues around like a backpack full of rocks! And yet … I’ll be honest, my leaning in was a bust. I spent all of two minutes praying about it and wanting to be unbent before I caved. “Brit. Get me out of here. It’s so hot and I look ridiculous!” It wasn’t my last opportunity. There’ll be another here around the riverbend.

But that’s good! I don’t want to be the same person in ten or twenty years, or even at this time next year. I want to be unbent, molded back to the shape God created me to be. The shape He intended me to be. What a gift it will be someday to stand up straight, unhindered by the nonsense the enemy throws at me. Everything sad is coming untrue.

God, unbend me. I’m here for it. (Mostly. But I am. Mostly.)