Jesus' Measuring System

Five minutes into our Valentine’s Day hike, my heart froze.  We came to a decision point – which trail to take up the mountain?  I strained to see any semblance of trail on the impossibly steep hillside.  My eyes saw a wall, a barrier, an impasse, not a way forward.  Our friends’ two boys ran ahead to show me.  Yes, that narrow strip of gravel.  Now, I see. 

“Honestly, both ways freak me out,” I said in response. 

“Well, if both ways are equally scary, we might as well take the more direct way,” Todd concluded.

The boys took off, eager to climb.  I stayed behind and felt grateful for my large old-school Goodwill sunglasses hiding the tears that sprang to the surface.  My husband, Jeff, hung back with me, offering help.  As is often true, those we love most get a front row seat to our raw places.  While Todd and Suzy and their kids called out encouragement from above us on the trail, Jeff baby-stepped up the slippery gravel with me and my string of fear words, “I hate this, I hate this, I hate this.  This is not a hike.  This is a rock climb.  I hate this.”                                   

The straight-up section over, I still could not look down without hanging on to Jeff.  My legs would lock up.  A flock of mountain sheep ran over the edge, startling at our presence and effortlessly racing far beyond us into safe shadows.  It made me think of a favorite allegory, Hannah Hurnard’s Hinds Feet on High Places.  I told myself, ‘God makes my feet like a deer’s.  He enables me to go up on the heights.” (2 Samuel 22:34)  

Everyone suggested small steps and to not think too far ahead.  Just focus on the step in front of you.  I put my head down, dug my hiking poles into the grassy crevices on either side of the trail, and followed the boys forward.  Jeff stayed right behind me.

There’s something thrilling about going farther than you think you can.  While I only made it to the false summit, not the true top, I was proud nonetheless.  I hadn’t headed back to the car in that first five minutes.  That was a personal trophy of sorts.  Still, looking out over the valley, rivers, and far off Cascades and Rainier, I knew I couldn’t avoid the steep return trip.  More trepidation crept in. 

Todd, Suzy, and kids had to get home for their youngest child, so they went ahead.  I went painfully slowly.  In fact, my knees started to burn with pain because I was slow enough to put all the pressure of my weight on them, step by step, instead of keeping lighter, quicker feet.  I hated feeling like I was about to slip and fall at any moment.  My whole body was so tense. 

After so long in this state, I became angry again.  

“This is not fun.  I hate feeling scared and I hate feeling like I’m going to fall.  I just want to walk normally.”  

I was grateful for Jeff’s hand of support and his patience, but I started to get upset about that too.  I don’t want to be the weak one, the slow one, the fearful one, the angry one.  Why am I dragging us down, and yet, how did I get into this psycho steep hike in the first place?  If I had known it would be so scary, I could have said no. 

As you may have guessed by now, we made it down the mountain and back home safely.  But I maintained my frustration at home.  I told Jeff how much I was afraid and embarrassed that I didn’t handle things better or stronger. 

Jeff looked at me and said, “That’s not how I measure your strength.”

We were both quiet after that.  Nothing else needed to be spoken.  The words resounded inside me, over and over.  That’s not how I measure your strength.

Today is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of the season leading up to Easter.  Jeff and I went to our church’s service where we were invited to write down our sins, fold up the paper, and actually nail it to a wooden cross.  We had our names on the outside, so the pastors and volunteers could say our names as they put our folded papers into metal buckets to burn for the ashes.  I wrote down “Fear.”

As I sat in the pew, listening to names and smelling the smoky smoldering papers, this thought came to me: ‘What would my life be like without fear?’

Fear so dominates my daily life, it’s very difficult to imagine life without it.  Actually, I feel afraid to live without fear.  Funny how it works that way.

It seems like such terribly hard work to give up fear.  I don’t know how to begin.  I don’t want to begin.  Fear hides me.  Fear excuses me.  Fear brings emotional attention from others, and I like feeling that importance and care.  

But, I’m sinning when fear overrides God’s truth in my life.  Looks like I'd better work harder to stop being afraid.

Then, my God whispered to me, “That’s not how I measure your redemption.”

For you know that it was not with perishable things such as silver or gold that you were redeemed from the empty way of life handed down to you from your ancestors,  but with the precious blood of Christ, a lamb without blemish or defect. (1 Peter 1:18 & 19).

Thank You, God, for the gift of freedom from sin.

Thank You, Jesus, for doing all the work to free us.

Thank You, Holy Spirit, for being more than enough to take me farther from sin and closer in relationship with my Creator.

Just when I think I know my reality, God reveals something deeper and better.  When I despaired of letting my husband down, it turned out that Jeff never doubted my strength, nor was he testing it on that mountainside.  When I go back to my belief again and again and again, that all of God’s good plans somehow revolve around my abilities, God shows me His Son. 

Whatever you’re dealing with tonight, please let God have it.  He measures your strength by Jesus’ work on your behalf.  IN JESUS, you are strong enough, pure enough, rich enough, healthy enough, free enough.  It is all about HIM.  Please let God be for you what you can never be on your own.  I’m right here with you, letting go of my fear crutch in exchange for whatever Jesus offers me.  It's scary right now, but it's going to be good in the end.  I just know it.