Obedience. Blah.

Yeah, the title kinda sums me up.  I love to be obeyed, but I don’t necessarily enjoy obeying.  I like my kids to jump right in and do what I want them to do with Pollyanna-like sunniness, but I can’t say that they’ve always gotten a real solid example from me.

Actually, they kind of have.  I do a pretty decent job of obeying God in pretty much everything that everyone else can see.  Unfortunately, though, there are a few things God wants me to do (or not do) that only He and I know about.  On those things, I often miss the mark.  Big time.

It’s a shame, too, because the things He asks me to do are simple things that have the potential to make a big difference in someone’s day–a card in the mail, an encouraging email, a lunch invitation to a friend, a compliment to a stranger, time in His Word.  Easy stuff.

Then why is it so hard?

I don’t know if I just think I’m too busy with important things to drop what I’m doing and obey or if I feel compelled to know why in the world God would want me to do whatever He’s asking me to do.  The reason for my non-compliance doesn’t really matter.  What matters is that I’m not obeying my God.

Jesus has this still, small voice that He often uses.  It’s actually difficult for me to hear on occasion.  I tend to be the kind of girl who takes a two-by-four on the side of the head.  Subtlety often escapes me.  I’ve learned, though, that practice makes His voice more easily heard.  Because of my habit of disobedience, His whisper has long been easily lost in the loudness of my life.

I want to do better.  I’m committed to doing better.  James 4:17 says, “Anyone, then, who knows the good he ought to do and doesn’t do it, sins”. 

Sin keeps me from living the life God has called me to live.  Whether I consider my sin to be big or small, it creates a division between my Savior and myself.

And, to be honest, my kids may not actually see my disobedience, but they do share some of the consequences.  If there is division between Jesus and me, my kids are not getting my best.  I don’t want them to have a broken momma, but a momma who is whole and alive in Christ.  I want them to see me doing little things for Jesus–things that are maybe out of my comfort zone or things that maybe don’t make sense.  I don’t want to model a safe, white-bread sort of faith.  I want them to see the richness of full surrender to the Bread of Life.  I want them to see Him in me.


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