There and Back Again

The other day I was listening to a sermon when I accidentally typed "sacrifice" instead of "surrender" in my notes. Oops. "Easy mistake," I thought. "They're basically synonyms." But as I continued to think about it, they're not. Not even close. 

A sacrifice is a check for $500. It might hurt. But I know how much I'm giving and can choose if I'm ready and willing to make that sacrifice. I can look around at others and compare my sacrifice to theirs, coming up with a specific amount, just more than theirs, that makes me feel just a bit more holy. I can ask God what he needs and sacrifice that much from my own pile. The sacrifice is about me and what I think God needs from me. And I (sometimes subconsciously) say "hey look over here," so he'll notice all I'm giving. I expect him to act on my behalf, or at the very least, thank me. I mean, come on, I sacrificed. 

But surrender is a blank check. I offer it, not knowing what it will cost, not seeing what others have paid. I can only offer it when I trust the recipient. When else would you give someone a blank check? Surrender is about the one I surrender to, it's humility, and there's nothing flashy to draw attention or praise to it. It is hidden.

Living in Bogotá, Colombia the past 5 years has been a sacrifice. I have missed out on countless events, opportunities, highs and lows in my hometown with my Texas family and friends. I have grown up and finished my 20s in Bogotá. I have embraced a new language and culture that sees the person before the task and the present before the efficient. I've fallen in love with my wonderful students and been blessed to see the Holy Spirit working in their lives. I've stumbled into a role that fully uses my theater major, proving that God uses our obedience over logic.

But now I'm being torn from that life. Asked to surrender and come home.

I'm coming back to Texas feeling like I'm 23 again, returning from England full of unexplainable experiences that I can't fully communicate. All the while everyone else has continued on with their lives, most in completely new seasons since the last time we shared our lives side-by-side. 

So who am I now if I'm not "that friend who lives in Colombia" or a "cousin/daughter/sister/tia who's a missionary?" What if my identity isn't in being a servant? 

The perspective of the older brother in the story of the Prodigal Son has become a new favorite for me during my time in Colombia. I've always heard sermons that condemn the older brother for not being excited for the runaway's return, so I've felt guilty for relating to him more than any other character in the Bible. The book The Return of the Prodigal Son by Henri Nouwen has helped me see God's heart is not to condemn his older son; he sees the burden the older son has placed upon himself and has compassion for him. He sees his pain in slaving away, trying to earn a place in his father's house, and he desires for both of his sons to come home.

I have never doubted that I am at work for his glory. I am fully confident that me 'n' Jesus will have much to celebrate one day in eternity when we look back on this season. 

But is he at work for my good?While I've been busy being a good older brother to the prodigal son, a useful tool out in the field, have I neglected celebrating my own inheritance, or investing in my own life? In things that will be around next year or (dare I say!) in 5 years? My own life has been on pause so that I can give to others. But isn't that what he wants? My sacrifice? 

For the older brother in the Prodigal Son parable, he is hurt that the father eagerly gives the prodigal food and clothes, when he's been slaving away for years and the father "never once gave me even one young goat for a feast with my friends!" The father understands this frustration and so do we! If what the older brother said was actually true, the father would be a really terrible Dad. But he's not. 'Cause here's the catch: it was actually always all the older brother's to begin with. The goat, the clothes, the house. ALL OF IT. He was a son. An heir. And he missed the chance to enjoy it because he was too busy trying to earn it. 

Imagine winning the lottery and instead of walking in to claim your winnings, you stand outside begging for the money to pay for it. It's already yours. You just have to claim it.

In Isaiah 1, God tells his people that their sacrifices actually burden him. He desires to heal them, but they're bent on giving him their sacrifices and gifts to earn his favor. It grieves him to see us work to earn our inheritance when it's already ours as his children!

It seems so simple. But it's anything but easy, at least for me. 

Surrender isn't giving anything up, but giving everything up. 

And accepting that it was all mine to begin with. 

Weird. 

So I'm a hobbit coming home. From sacrifice to surrender.

There and Back Again. 

The end of the Lord of the Rings trilogy.
The hobbits return home from their grand adventures, looking around at each other like, "what do we do with all that?"
It's so heavy. 
Yup, I get this vibe big time.
Welcome back to the Shire.

All I Have is Yours

by Rachel Jeske in April 2020

I was numb. 

I felt nothing. 

But I wanted to want Him. 

So I thought I had to go somewhere else and figure it out. 

My grace is sufficient.

That means that’s all you need.

And it works best when you feel weak.

But I needed to earn it. 

So I left.

The pain broke me. 

When you try your best but you can’t succeed, 

and you’re left picking up the pieces of the life you built.

Trying to salvage the story. The dreams.

All the while He whispered, “daughter.”

Stop doing and just be loved. 

But that made me uncomfortable.

So I left again. 

The holiest option is always the hardest, right?

Well, look what I can do for you.

A heart that feels like it never received what it was due. 

Seems so easy for others but so elusive to you. 

I have to trust that I’m wanted home, as the father urged his son to come inside.

He called me “beloved.” 

But I still felt more comfortable out in the fields. 

Look at how I’ve been slaving for you.

I asked him when would it all be enough.

When could I stop?

Have I not shown you that I love you? 

I screamed up to him.

I'm so lonely.

Why? All I have is yours.

Just ask.

The little sheep, with legs broken, will rest closer to the shepherd.

The shepherd will bring his flock back to the pasture. 

Which do I love more? The dream giver or the dream?

He’s not impressed with the sacrifice.

Just surrender.

Take what I have for you.

It was always yours to begin with.

All I have is yours. 

So the sheep came home to look.

"You don’t really suppose, do you, that all your adventures and escapes were managed by mere luck, just for your sole benefit? You are a very fine person, Mr. Baggins, and I am very fond of you; but you are only quite a little fellow in a wide world after all!"

-Gandalf to Bilbo in The Hobbit