More Time

June wanted me to finish this by yesterday. I had a pretty bad case of writer's block going, and couldn't get it done. So I fretted, and stressed, and tried to push myself a little harder, to no avail. Creative juices were not flowing, and I couldn't turn the valve. Finally, I surrendered to humility, texted June, and asked for more time. She granted my request, with her usual grace.

Then I had to laugh at myself. What an amazingly powerful woman June had become in my mind! She had the power to enforce a rigid deadline, requiring of me immediate results, regardless of my state of mind. She had the authority to revoke my privilege of publication, to declare that my procrastination was unacceptable, that anything I wrote today would be rejected, scored with a big fat red zero, because it was turned in too late. I had made June my grader, my evaluator, my judge, the one upon whose opinion my success and self-esteem would depend.

But June knew of a different kind of power. She knew the power of grace. She had at her fingertips the capacity to lift my burden, to ease my stress, to open up windows of enlarged opportunity, when I felt the walls closing in. She had at her disposal the words that would seem to create time, to put more sand in the hourglass. And she chose to use them. She chose grace.

I know it sounds silly, and I don't mean to make too much of a simple matter. But that's what stress does; that's how anxiety works. They make too much of simple matters. They amplify consequences of small failures. They exaggerate risk. They take schedules and deadlines and turn them into dungeons. They take disappointments and shortcomings and turn them into condemnation.

It is sad that so many of us so often see God through the distorted lens of anxiety and stress. We see him only as grader, evaluator, and judge. We expect him to use his infinite powers of perception to detect our every flaw and shortcoming, to bleed red ink all over our papers, with harsh words of criticism and condemnation. We fear his sentence, as he may judge all of our efforts to be inadequate, unacceptable, too little, and too late.

But the blood of Christ sends a different message. He did not bleed to condemn - we were already condemned. He bled to redeem. He bled to deliver. He bled to save. He bled to lift our burdens, to ease our stress, to rip down barriers to our happiness, to open up pathways to enduring joy. The power of the cross is the power of grace. And God has chosen - continues to chose - to give it to me and you.

We simply must do the same. We must cease using our red pens to critique and judge and condemn the errors and shortcomings of the people around us. We must use the blood that pumps through our hearts and veins to bring warmth and life to those we touch. We have more power than we realize. We have the power to lift burdens, ease stress, and open up windows of enlarged opportunity. We must chose grace.

... So next I turned and asked God if I could have a little more time. More time to deal with all the stuff I haven't dealt with yet, more time to learn and grow, more time to rest and think, more time to feel and breathe. He smiled, and laughed, and told me he would give me all the time I need, all the time there is. He offered me eternity.

... Now if I could just think of something to write about ...