I lost myself down memory lane one recent evening and decided to make note of a few old flames.
At one point in my life I was enamored with the sweet, funny guy with striking eyes and witty ways. He knew how to catch and hold the attention of a crowd, and for a brief moment held mine as well. Fluffy blonde hair you loved running your hands through and sea blue eyes that feigned innocence with dangerous ease.
The athlete was cut, disciplined, gifted to be sure. His talent was equal parts genetics and dedicated hours of practice. Watching him perform, maneuvering through the court or on the track, was truly exhilirating. The same resolve that made him a great player kept him by my side for years.
For a snippet in time there was the wildchild thrill-seeker. Never still and never dull, he was always looking for a sidekick for his next adventure. I admired and identified with his spirit. Spending time with him gave me an opportunity to break out of my mold in the least daring way possible. It was a slow trudging start on the long road to freedom.
The musician I entertained more for my own selfish pleasure, enjoying the adoration he showered upon me. My appreciation of the songs he wrote in my name was more a testament to my overgrown ego rather than musical ability on his part. He had a way with words, but the experience merely renewed my appreciation for a more emotionally balanced, self-respecting "manly" type.
The former athlete turned politico took me back to younger, fonder times. He shared my campaign-crazed mentality and obscene work hours which made our time together all the more convenient. He possessed a savvy, an instinct, and a fearlessness that propelled him far past his contemporaries. I admired the fact he was different in every way, yet we shared the same spirit. He was a breath of fresh air I'd badly needed at the time.
The wordsmith was many things but each stemmed from his zest for life and people and new experiences. His finesse with language could cut you to the core one moment and lull you into an admiring stupor the next. And as maddening as I found other qualities of his, he just might be one of the most honest people you'd ever meet.
For each of these man-children I developed a fondness (however fleeting) based not on their actions toward or for me; no desires and requests met; certainly not their abilities to fulfill all my wildest dreams. While the ways they showed affection, admiration, and pursuit all played a part I found myself endeared to each one simply for his own being. For his essence, for all the qualities that made him; for his very nature.
Why is it so easy for me to admire and communicate and engage with these, and yet a struggle to enter into fellowship with my God? With the embodiment and originator of all noble, intriguing and praiseworthy qualities? Who has very personally, intimately, patiently, persistently rescued me from my own silly self time and again. From death and the grave, from very real and present perils. Such a shame that my natural tendency is to approach this Jesus coldly, with the likes of a laundry list rather than a love letter.
Why do I thank him for what He has done for me, but forget to marvel at all He simply is? Yes, he has a track record, a resume of faithfulness, but do I love Him solely for what He has done for me? Is He not worthy of my affection regardless of my state, regardless of outcomes or results?
Just as the gap between my sin nature and His perfection separates me from Him, so it is an appreciation of His very being that draws me into deeper relationship. Into a more joyful and purposeful existence.
A purer motive and a truer heart of worship.
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