Unless the Lord builds the house

Over the past weeks a small sentence, a snippet from Proverbs has appeared as a recurrent phrase in my mind: Unless the Lord builds the house. . . It seems that a life lived fully, vibrantly, is always a little more than one can conveniently handle; so my life right now should really be termed an attempt, rather than a case of “business as usual.” Some things get stranger and stranger as the path winds on, others appear far more ordinary than I ever imagined. One thing I’m in the thickness of realizing is just how little I’m in control of anything. It’s a true, wonderful place to be, but not the less unnerving or sanctifying.

Over Christmas break I began to consciously face the fact that life would only continue to get fuller and the stakes higher till the race was finished. Sounds simple, and I would have affirmed as much years ago. But the practicality of it hit me in a way it never had before, and I realized that the sooner I came to grips the better. The list of responsibilities, the complication of relationships, the plentiful and lengthy assignments, the sheer time commitment of ministering to other people, and the overarching call to holiness began to bear down and I started to see small goals as the end game. Of course, one paper would somehow get written, but there was always another to take its place. One friend came out of a period of great need, only to be replaced by more opportunities to give of myself to a hurting brother or sister.

Even if dinner is made, the wash done, the bathroom cleaned, a week from now it will be as if those things had never been done. Or will it? This is the battleground for every believer, in a sense, but in a particular way for mothers. A fear had been  planted and started to grow; the thought that if the responsibilities of life crowded to the limit of my time and strength and ability now, I would surely be sunk when it came to any kind of full time ministry—including motherhood.

Yet the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, as Solomon said, and it was here I found my answer.  I had long ago accepted the challenge of seeing all thing as coming from the hand of my Father, but somehow I’d missed the fundamental truth that this necessarily included the ordering of my days. I could pursue trust in His goodness amid hardship, but was the same true of my minutes and hours, and the relentless commandeering of my time and energies?

The iceberg below the surface came into view, as it were, and I thought and wrestled and prayed, wondering how little I’d actually internalized the reason for living in the first place. Glorifying God and enjoying Him forever is a pursuit that demands every instant of our days, and nothing is neutral. We’re not called to give a certain percentage of ourselves to God or to others. It’s everything in. Hesed love doesn’t hold back and doesn’t leave an exit door open. Not only am I called to pursue God, but I’m called to aid others in their pursuit of God, and often the cost of the latter will seem greater than the cost of the former, though in the end they’re all one and the same.  

In a way I’d describe it as a crisis of knowing how to live with people and lists. Any progress seemed far in the distance and the finding of answers so preliminary, but this search began to undeniably change the way I thought and lived. It came on slowly, and far more as a result of grace given in answer to prayer than any bootstrap pulling. Yet somehow the fruit became evident. For a good while I couldn’t put my finger on it, and the process of realizing what He’s actually worked has felt like looking on in curiosity and wonder at another person’s life. Those closest to me began to comment that I’d changed, that I seemed more settled in my spirit than they’d seen me. I confess I was surprised, as if the fulfillment of His promises to transform me into the image of His Son were mere platitudes, and not something active and working. It was also humbling, to realize a shortcoming which had become so characteristic of me and affected so deeply the way I lived my life—all without me realizing it.

I’d been living so many moments for the next. I’d taken the mindless job over the person so many times. I’d been continually guilty of interacting with people and failed to truly see them, to search them out and to understand them. I’d run harried and hurried through whole months without pausing to look up at the stars. I knew the value of the simple and the beautiful, but I’d successfully begun the process of crowding them out of my life to make room for the self-made agendas I thought more important. The struggle to see people as more important than anything else continued, and I can’t say I was winning, though I trust that by His grace I was growing more than it appeared.

Unfortunately, I’m not all fixed. This humpty dumpty is still very much in the process of being put back together. I continue to be guilty of a busy spirit, of ignoring the beauty around me, of shrinking from costly love, of failing to give of myself wholeheartedly. For a long time now I’ve admired the quote by Jim Elliot, “Wherever you are, be all there! Live to the hilt whatever situation you believe to be the will of God.” I’m continually faced with my own failure to meet that challenge, to take up the gauntlet.

Yet that is not to say nothing has changed, and without a doubt His grace toward me is not in vain. He’s caused me to be at peace with the passing of time, to carry an open hand through change beyond my control. He’s opening my eyes to see all things as good because given for His holiness and my further delight in Christ. He’s teaching me to cling to Christ and to revel in His love, knowing that He is enough and were I to lose everything He would remain and I would not be the poorer. Each of these lessons, I realize, stand in the beginning stages of a growth which, Lord willing, will persevere through a lifetime.

In many ways, of course, nothing has changed—the books roll on, reading reports come due, conversations draw time, days shorten, late nights clamber demandingly for coffee—yet there is beauty and order in the rhythm of the days. Ultimately, He alone gives the increase, and I cannot dictate or plan precisely what is accomplished in the string of moments that are my days. A simple assignment begun early in the afternoon sometimes remains undone at the close of the day. Attention is required in a dozen different directions at once, and long days are perpetually broken up by the unplanned. Conversely, some days see the list checked off and friendships in a flourishing state. It’s all up to Him, that movement of people, the course of work and study and life, the cost of relationship.

This past week was no different. Completing book submission forms took needed study time, but there was a satisfying joy as I hit the send button. Sunshine and an open front door in the afternoon brightened the composing of a reading report on Romans. Pumpkin pancakes never did anyone much harm on a Saturday morning. Small notes of gratitude written to friends, and notes received. Endless pages of information, but information about the wonders of my God and the realities that make this world go round. An afternoon with a handful of exhuberant kids: tag, grass, extensive saltwater experiments, “homemade refrigerators,” armadillo holes, firearm and hunting talk with an eager young boy, affectionate snuggles from a little girl with reflective, self-possessed brown eyes and unruly hair, piggy back rides, and homemade ice cream on the edge of the lawn after dark while the stars came out and the crickets went to town.

As the moments tarry and I learn, slowly, to be absolutely present wherever I am, the pleasures of the ordinary come real in a magnificent way. We were meant to be broken, to give, to be spent, and it is my aim to do so in as contented and extravagant a way as He gives me grace.

It all comes back to North in the end. God calls His people to hard things far beyond their level of sanctification, but He never fails to provide the grace needed. Without this, we’re all in deep water sinking fast. Without this I would deny Him if put to the test; I would crack if put in years of solitary confinement; I would cry out in blasphemy if tortured; and I would fail to love those around me with humble, persistent, daily affection. Right now, I’ve been called to the mundane tests of an American college student, but more and more I’m coming to see that the courage of martyrs isn’t a thing distinct from the countless opportunities I’ve been given to serve those around me—roommates, friends, family—or the unseen sacrifices of a mother for her children. The Christian life is organic, encompassing all of life, and the gospel makes sense of every testing. Our Father disciplines each of His children as He sees fit across all boundaries of time, place, nationality, and identity. The Creator possesses full rights over His creatures, and the Potter over the clay. Who are we? As the author of Ecclesiastes wrote centuries ago “I perceived that whatever God does endures forever; nothing can be added to it, nor anything taken from it. God has done it, so that people fear before him.”

The kingdom comes in all of life, in every circumstance, and because of His great love we are not overcome. Unless the Lord builds the house, they labor in vain who build it. And, wonder of all wonders, we are that house. Not one of His good purposes toward us will fall to the ground, for He brings fruit and growth despite our manifold weakness and sin.