A Better Story
My 7-year old daughter hoards toilet paper rolls. One of the few things I’m pretty certain we won’t ever run out of, and she stockpiles them like they’re gold. They aren’t trash to her, they are possibility. They are super hero wrist cuffs, they are the makings of a ladder so her stuffed animals can climb down from her bunk bed, they are castles and maracas and a million other things. She’s amazing and hysterical, and she drives me crazy – her toy bins and backpack are overflowing with her treasured TP rolls, and I find secret stashes in the most inconvenient places. But I can’t get too mad at her because I know she gets it from me.
I have always loved the idea turning trash into treasures. I’m no Joanna Gaines, but I can’t help but think what could that be when I see something discarded. What could I turn that into? I think we all love the idea of old things becoming new. Of ugly things becoming beautiful. Ultimately, it’s because it’s what God does and we are made in His image – it’s one of the ways He has put eternity in our hearts. It’s why we like makeover shows and butterflies – the transformation, the big reveal, the beauty that only change can unearth.
Deep down I think we all know, we all hope anyways, that it’s our story too. And in Christ, it is.
Once dead. Once guilty. Once alone. Now alive. Now called righteous. Now beloved daughter.
It is our story and it is beautiful. But it is also so messy.
Why? Because we’re still in the middle of the story.
Our hearts are not yet whole. And we are not yet home. We are still in process. We are The Already and The Not Yet. We are already new creations, but we have not yet shed our old flesh. We are already cherished as beloved daughters, but we do not yet always trust Him as Good Father. We are set apart for his glory and we are being made into women who will one day reflect it perfectly – but we aren’t there yet. Death and life, flesh and Spirit, are at war within us. This is what sanctification is: the war between who we were and who God is making us to be.
But sometimes the war feels lost. Sometimes it seems like my old self is all I am. Do you ever feel that? Defined by that same sin again? Defined by your quick temper, your jealousy, your pride, materialism, lust, lack of compassion, shame. It seems like if this is up to us, we are never going to take this old self off, never going to really live like daughters. But it’s not up to us.
As always, God has a promise and a plan. What He began in us at conversion, He will complete in glorification.
1 John 3:2 says this: Beloved, we are God’s children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is.
One day the old self and the sin it loves will be gone for good. One day holiness won’t be our goal, it will be our banner. One day all the not yets will become a thing of the past, and we will be like Christ – holy, perfect, beautiful. This sounds awesome, right? Who doesn’t want that?...
Well, sometimes I don’t.
Sometimes I want to stay just the way I am. I want to worship my old idols, even though they are constantly letting me down. I want to stay broken because it is familiar. Do you guys know what I am talking about? I want to ignore my sin because compared to so-and-so, it doesn’t seem that bad. I want to repent and believe once, not over and over and over again. I want to serve my flesh because the other option is killing it and that is painful and takes constant vigilance and work and I’m exhausted. And like Paul, I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing. Worse than that, sometimes I don’t even care. Sometimes I don’t believe there is a better story.
This spring break, my husband and I took our three kids SKIING with three other families. We were with some of my favorite people on the planet. The snow was fresh and powdery. The weather was sunny and perfect. The kids were doing great on the slopes…And I was a total monster.
You see I had forgotten in the two years’ time since our last ski trip how much I dislike skiing. Downhill, fast, and out of control – is not my thing. I prefer flat, slow and totally in control. I just don’t enjoy it. I have tried. I have taken lessons. I want to like it, but I am stressed the whole way down the mountain. I’m counting down the minutes until our lunch break and then again until the lifts close.
I would love to tell you that because I was filled with such gratitude for the time with my family and friends, in such a beautiful place, doing something that made all of them so happy, that I didn’t even remember my dislike for skiing…and we all had a great week.
But what really happened is this.
I woke up each morning in a worse mood than the day before – filled with dread. I only spoke to my husband in short, clipped speech – angry at him for trying so hard to help me enjoy our vacation – my hatred of which was surely his fault. I resented my kids’ fearlessness and progress beyond the snow plow because it meant they could get halfway down the mountain without me. I balked at the understanding of a friend who lovingly suggested I give myself some grace, take a break, and get a coffee. I fell asleep each night completely drained and so disappointed in myself.
This is what sanctification looked like in me that week – not exactly pretty. The reality is there was a war going on inside me. I wanted to be a wife and mom who loves her husband and kids more than her own comfort. I wanted to be a woman who finds my identity in Christ alone and not in whether I am succeeding at my own definition of being a good wife and mom. I wanted to be all the things the Spirit in me wanted, all the things that in the moment I wasn’t – selfless, gracious, humble, kind. And I wanted all the things my flesh wanted – to be comfortable, and liked, and right.
So what do I do with that trip? Do I write it off as a somewhat funny, somewhat sad, dark-comedy sort of chapter in my story? Do I just commit to myself to do better next time? Or at least not go skiing? I blame skiing as the main problem for how I felt and finally swear it off altogether? Do I just wait for heaven where I’ll certainly love skiing and be good at it and not make everyone with me miserable?
Here’s the thing – I’ve tried all that before – blaming, ignoring, avoiding and just trying harder. They certainly didn’t make the fight go away on this most recent trip. So what do I do? What is the answer? Or doMy only hope is toI trust that my God will stop at nothing, and that He will use everything, to transform me – even my own adult temper tantrum.? The fight itself is reason for hope, and reason to fight all the more!
1 John 3:2 again: Beloved, we are God’s children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is.
But we know – what Paul means here is - this is true, so know it! Know that He is the Author of our stories and has had the perfect end in mind from the beginning. Know also that He’s lovingly written every chapter, every plot twist, every stage of life, every sorrow and joy, and every other seemingly mundane ordinary forgettable detail, and (praise the Lord) every awful ski trip into our stories. He hasn’t written the end and forgotten to write the middle. This we can know.
So, my mess has purpose. Each opportunity to repent and believe is a gift. The fight itself is evidence of his grace, because without Him we don’t fight – it is what God is using to finish His work in us. The truth is, even in the midst of my ski trip meltdown, when my old self wanted to enslave me to my misery, the Spirit was seeking to stir godly affections in me, whispering the reminder that He is stronger, that my Savior Jesus, my co-heir and brother, has already purchased my freedom, and that the joy set before me – Him – makes the fight worth it and the outcome secure.
Instead of being surprised or wishing away our battles with the flesh – what if we started being encouraged in the midst of them because we KNOW they are turning our eyes to Jesus and His promise that we are changing? What if the struggles didn’t drop us into despair about who we are – but emboldened us to believe all the more in who Christ is and His promise that through this fight we will be like Him?
Because we know the flesh doesn’t win in the end – it can’t.
But Jesus made sure of that. He took the sting out of death – that means it has no victory, it can only lead to our glory. What it also means is He took the sting out of everything that leads to death. So now, my old self wars against my new self as a defeated one, clawing and fighting dirty because it knows it can’t win. The brokenness of this world, my sin, my flesh…they have no sting left, they can only lead to my sanctification.
What this should produce in us is fearlessness and a profound hope.
The things that keep you up at night – whether it is fear of your worst nightmare coming true or fear of your greatest desire never coming true – what if you really believed they had no power over you? What if you really believed that no matter the outcome your ultimate good will happen. The better story in sanctification is that nothing bad can harm you and nothing good will be withheld from you.
He is going to use everything, and I mean everything, to wrestle our hope away from this world and enable us to place it in Christ.
The broken relationships, the burned dinner, the flakey roommate, the passive husband, the rebelling child, the promotion you didn’t’ get. The cracked iPhone, the stepped-on lego, the unpaid bills and the poor bill of health. The seemingly too-long season of singleness, the seemingly too-long season of Dora the Explorer on the repeat. The bad ski trips…all part of the process to transform us from one degree of glory to another, to fulfill his promise of transforming us into the image of the Son he loves. It’s all lost its sting, it’s all for our good.
So, my ski trip malfunction wasn’t isolated, or meaningless or just embarrassing.
It was the Lord graciously, kindly, showing me my great need for him, again. Showing me that the idols of control and approval that He has been calling me to put down for years are still there. That there is still flesh he wants me to kill. That there are still pieces of my heart He is wooing.
And it means that sometimes, most of the time if I’m honest, I am a mess. Because changing is uncomfortable. Because killing the flesh hurts. It means that there are chapters I’d rather not walk through. It means sometimes I don’t know who I am because I am literally being brought to the end of myself. My flesh cries out for me to hold my identity tightly, and the gospel answers back and says: Daughter, hand it over – come and be transformed and be made new and be made perfect.
The gospel says: It’s okay if you don’t recognize yourself, Alison. Recognize Jesus. See Jesus. The gospel says: You are secure in His love, so trust Him with the mess, put off the old self and be who you are in Christ.
Sisters: One day we won’t have to fight against sin and brokenness because we’ll see Jesus as He is. But until then…Let’s believe together that the story written for each of us, the one with the perfect ending and the messy, warring, already-and-not-yet middle chapters, really is perfect, really is the better story.
Father God, not only did you make a way for us to get home, but you will see us through every step of the way. Give us faith to believe that the struggle against our old selves is never in vain. Give us faith to see Jesus as He is. Amen.
I have always loved the idea turning trash into treasures. I’m no Joanna Gaines, but I can’t help but think what could that be when I see something discarded. What could I turn that into? I think we all love the idea of old things becoming new. Of ugly things becoming beautiful. Ultimately, it’s because it’s what God does and we are made in His image – it’s one of the ways He has put eternity in our hearts. It’s why we like makeover shows and butterflies – the transformation, the big reveal, the beauty that only change can unearth.
Deep down I think we all know, we all hope anyways, that it’s our story too. And in Christ, it is.
Once dead. Once guilty. Once alone. Now alive. Now called righteous. Now beloved daughter.
It is our story and it is beautiful. But it is also so messy.
Why? Because we’re still in the middle of the story.
Our hearts are not yet whole. And we are not yet home. We are still in process. We are The Already and The Not Yet. We are already new creations, but we have not yet shed our old flesh. We are already cherished as beloved daughters, but we do not yet always trust Him as Good Father. We are set apart for his glory and we are being made into women who will one day reflect it perfectly – but we aren’t there yet. Death and life, flesh and Spirit, are at war within us. This is what sanctification is: the war between who we were and who God is making us to be.
But sometimes the war feels lost. Sometimes it seems like my old self is all I am. Do you ever feel that? Defined by that same sin again? Defined by your quick temper, your jealousy, your pride, materialism, lust, lack of compassion, shame. It seems like if this is up to us, we are never going to take this old self off, never going to really live like daughters. But it’s not up to us.
As always, God has a promise and a plan. What He began in us at conversion, He will complete in glorification.
1 John 3:2 says this: Beloved, we are God’s children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is.
One day the old self and the sin it loves will be gone for good. One day holiness won’t be our goal, it will be our banner. One day all the not yets will become a thing of the past, and we will be like Christ – holy, perfect, beautiful. This sounds awesome, right? Who doesn’t want that?...
Well, sometimes I don’t.
Sometimes I want to stay just the way I am. I want to worship my old idols, even though they are constantly letting me down. I want to stay broken because it is familiar. Do you guys know what I am talking about? I want to ignore my sin because compared to so-and-so, it doesn’t seem that bad. I want to repent and believe once, not over and over and over again. I want to serve my flesh because the other option is killing it and that is painful and takes constant vigilance and work and I’m exhausted. And like Paul, I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing. Worse than that, sometimes I don’t even care. Sometimes I don’t believe there is a better story.
This spring break, my husband and I took our three kids SKIING with three other families. We were with some of my favorite people on the planet. The snow was fresh and powdery. The weather was sunny and perfect. The kids were doing great on the slopes…And I was a total monster.
You see I had forgotten in the two years’ time since our last ski trip how much I dislike skiing. Downhill, fast, and out of control – is not my thing. I prefer flat, slow and totally in control. I just don’t enjoy it. I have tried. I have taken lessons. I want to like it, but I am stressed the whole way down the mountain. I’m counting down the minutes until our lunch break and then again until the lifts close.
I would love to tell you that because I was filled with such gratitude for the time with my family and friends, in such a beautiful place, doing something that made all of them so happy, that I didn’t even remember my dislike for skiing…and we all had a great week.
But what really happened is this.
I woke up each morning in a worse mood than the day before – filled with dread. I only spoke to my husband in short, clipped speech – angry at him for trying so hard to help me enjoy our vacation – my hatred of which was surely his fault. I resented my kids’ fearlessness and progress beyond the snow plow because it meant they could get halfway down the mountain without me. I balked at the understanding of a friend who lovingly suggested I give myself some grace, take a break, and get a coffee. I fell asleep each night completely drained and so disappointed in myself.
This is what sanctification looked like in me that week – not exactly pretty. The reality is there was a war going on inside me. I wanted to be a wife and mom who loves her husband and kids more than her own comfort. I wanted to be a woman who finds my identity in Christ alone and not in whether I am succeeding at my own definition of being a good wife and mom. I wanted to be all the things the Spirit in me wanted, all the things that in the moment I wasn’t – selfless, gracious, humble, kind. And I wanted all the things my flesh wanted – to be comfortable, and liked, and right.
So what do I do with that trip? Do I write it off as a somewhat funny, somewhat sad, dark-comedy sort of chapter in my story? Do I just commit to myself to do better next time? Or at least not go skiing? I blame skiing as the main problem for how I felt and finally swear it off altogether? Do I just wait for heaven where I’ll certainly love skiing and be good at it and not make everyone with me miserable?
Here’s the thing – I’ve tried all that before – blaming, ignoring, avoiding and just trying harder. They certainly didn’t make the fight go away on this most recent trip. So what do I do? What is the answer? Or doMy only hope is toI trust that my God will stop at nothing, and that He will use everything, to transform me – even my own adult temper tantrum.? The fight itself is reason for hope, and reason to fight all the more!
1 John 3:2 again: Beloved, we are God’s children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is.
But we know – what Paul means here is - this is true, so know it! Know that He is the Author of our stories and has had the perfect end in mind from the beginning. Know also that He’s lovingly written every chapter, every plot twist, every stage of life, every sorrow and joy, and every other seemingly mundane ordinary forgettable detail, and (praise the Lord) every awful ski trip into our stories. He hasn’t written the end and forgotten to write the middle. This we can know.
So, my mess has purpose. Each opportunity to repent and believe is a gift. The fight itself is evidence of his grace, because without Him we don’t fight – it is what God is using to finish His work in us. The truth is, even in the midst of my ski trip meltdown, when my old self wanted to enslave me to my misery, the Spirit was seeking to stir godly affections in me, whispering the reminder that He is stronger, that my Savior Jesus, my co-heir and brother, has already purchased my freedom, and that the joy set before me – Him – makes the fight worth it and the outcome secure.
Instead of being surprised or wishing away our battles with the flesh – what if we started being encouraged in the midst of them because we KNOW they are turning our eyes to Jesus and His promise that we are changing? What if the struggles didn’t drop us into despair about who we are – but emboldened us to believe all the more in who Christ is and His promise that through this fight we will be like Him?
Because we know the flesh doesn’t win in the end – it can’t.
But Jesus made sure of that. He took the sting out of death – that means it has no victory, it can only lead to our glory. What it also means is He took the sting out of everything that leads to death. So now, my old self wars against my new self as a defeated one, clawing and fighting dirty because it knows it can’t win. The brokenness of this world, my sin, my flesh…they have no sting left, they can only lead to my sanctification.
What this should produce in us is fearlessness and a profound hope.
The things that keep you up at night – whether it is fear of your worst nightmare coming true or fear of your greatest desire never coming true – what if you really believed they had no power over you? What if you really believed that no matter the outcome your ultimate good will happen. The better story in sanctification is that nothing bad can harm you and nothing good will be withheld from you.
He is going to use everything, and I mean everything, to wrestle our hope away from this world and enable us to place it in Christ.
The broken relationships, the burned dinner, the flakey roommate, the passive husband, the rebelling child, the promotion you didn’t’ get. The cracked iPhone, the stepped-on lego, the unpaid bills and the poor bill of health. The seemingly too-long season of singleness, the seemingly too-long season of Dora the Explorer on the repeat. The bad ski trips…all part of the process to transform us from one degree of glory to another, to fulfill his promise of transforming us into the image of the Son he loves. It’s all lost its sting, it’s all for our good.
So, my ski trip malfunction wasn’t isolated, or meaningless or just embarrassing.
It was the Lord graciously, kindly, showing me my great need for him, again. Showing me that the idols of control and approval that He has been calling me to put down for years are still there. That there is still flesh he wants me to kill. That there are still pieces of my heart He is wooing.
And it means that sometimes, most of the time if I’m honest, I am a mess. Because changing is uncomfortable. Because killing the flesh hurts. It means that there are chapters I’d rather not walk through. It means sometimes I don’t know who I am because I am literally being brought to the end of myself. My flesh cries out for me to hold my identity tightly, and the gospel answers back and says: Daughter, hand it over – come and be transformed and be made new and be made perfect.
The gospel says: It’s okay if you don’t recognize yourself, Alison. Recognize Jesus. See Jesus. The gospel says: You are secure in His love, so trust Him with the mess, put off the old self and be who you are in Christ.
Sisters: One day we won’t have to fight against sin and brokenness because we’ll see Jesus as He is. But until then…Let’s believe together that the story written for each of us, the one with the perfect ending and the messy, warring, already-and-not-yet middle chapters, really is perfect, really is the better story.
Father God, not only did you make a way for us to get home, but you will see us through every step of the way. Give us faith to believe that the struggle against our old selves is never in vain. Give us faith to see Jesus as He is. Amen.
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