Being All Things

I cannot be all things for all people.

This has become my anthem lately. I cannot be everything that I would like to be for everyone that I would like to be there for—I’m not that strong, I’m not that big, and I’m not God.

I’ve been realizing how often I don’t give my God any space to be God. I’m still trying to figure out why in the world we do this. We can so clearly see that there is a gap between our ability and our needs—

but we keep stretching and contorting and reaching to fill that gap on our own.

 And sometimes it works. Sometimes we reach the other side just by hard work—but let’s be clear: that was never the intent. I was not built to do all things, to fix all things. We were not meant to run ourselves dry trying to keep a handle on the problems of others & ourselves. Though it’s probably possible it’s just not the point. You cannot be all things for all people.

I was built with the capacity to reach for help. This is what our weakness was made for. This is what I was made for. I was made to ask for help in everything. I was built to let Jesus invade my spaces & be in my hard conversations, for Jesus to be a part of not only my best days but my most insecure days. It’s a struggle I know well because who in the world likes to give up power and be vulnerable? For God to show that he’s strong he needs me to be okay with my own weakness. That’s not in my comfort zone. I love the idea of being strong. I hate the idea that God asks me to accept that I’m weak, but what would be the point of my God if I could take care of all my own battles? If I could create the sun and moon and stars and daisies? What would be the point of solving our own problems if we could never rest in the peace of something greater than ourselves?

We do ourselves and God a great disservice when we press into our problems by ourselves and then claim that there was Jesus in what was done. I serve a God who made mountains and valleys, so I’m trying to give Him the space to show up in my miniscule details. And no matter how big the problems that I solved were, if I try to say that I did it through Jesus when I really didn’t—I’m just making my big God look silly and small. But why is it so hard for me to just let God be big?

I want to stop. I want to stop handling things that were clearly not designed for me to toil and sweat and worry and worry and worry about. I spend too much time worrying about if God’s actually going to come through and no time actually letting God dance with me in my life. There is nothing that I have realized is more beautiful than the way that the Lord keeps calling us, keeps coming back and asking us to dance. I’ve felt so frustrated in this season with a whole lot of things yet even in my ugliest of moments of anger God keeps reaching in and asking me to dance. My God looks at me and wants me to talk about him with the same confidence that I have when I talk about the moon and the stars—I have not a single doubt in my mind that they will do what they are there to do. However so often I doubt that God will be what he says he’ll be.

I so often grab hold of opportunities where God could show that he’s God and I hoard them. I hold on. As if the harder I hold the stronger he’s going to work. And sometimes God does. He pries off our white knuckles from what we’re holding onto so strongly, and takes care of it. But how much greater would it be if God didn’t have to pry? If we could remember that we cannot be all things to all people,

we weren’t meant to be.


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