ALL or nothing

It's a poisonous way to live life. And yet, it's what I do in so many areas. Because I'm not The Pioneer Woman, I'm not going to even bother blogging. Because I'm not Ina Garten, I'm not going to even bother cooking adventurous meals. Because I'm not John Piper, I'm not going to even bother praying. Because I'm not Sandra McCracken, I'm not going to bother playing my guitar.

It makes sense in my head at the time. Behold, a syllogism:

The goal of everything should be perfection.
If you can't achieve perfection, you shouldn't even bother.
I shouldn't bother with anything hard because there is NO WAY I will be the best, thereby accomplishing my goal AND securing lots of accolades from onlookers (that of course being the secondary goal.)

Now, I'm no Aristotle, but I feel pretty safe in saying that this is not logical.

Why are you writing all this? Can't you just put up a picture of your kids and be done with it?

I could go on and on about this for years probably and never run out of things to say about how truly dysfunctional I am. But the reason this topic is on my mind is because of the book I started today called Loving the Little Years by Rachel Jankovic. Laura recommended it and after reading the sample, I quickly downloaded it. So many thought-provoking ideas have grabbed hold of my mind as I read. I'll save my book report for another post, but this is why I have been examining my "all-or-nothing" mentality today:

In her chapter called "In the Rock Tumbler" she begins be reminiscing about her rich spiritual life when she was in junior high. All the spiritual disciplines came so easily and so joyfully. I think about the time in my life that was like that. Bascially anytime prior to becoming a wife and a mother. Basically when all I had to think about was me. Basically when I lived a self-centered exsistence that naturally lended itself to uninterupted prayer times and painted toenails and meeting up for coffee with friends. I don't mean I never struggled or dealt with lack of desire for the things of God, but I had the luxury of only having to worry about my sin. My problems. My needs.

The author compares this to a rock being refined in a gentle, slow-flowing river. Yeah, the rock is being smoothed out but the change takes a long time. There's not a lot of resistence or struggle, but there's not a lot of growth either. It's sweet. It's refreshing. But it is not where sanctification gets its hands dirty and scoops out that corruption.

But things changed. For me, it happened by God sending a husband and children into my world. When this occurred, I was thrilled of course (and still am!) But, as Mrs. Jankovic puts it, your rock is taken out of the serene, gentle stream and placed into a rock tumbler. It's loud and disorienting and jarring. It's dirty in there. You get hit a lot. But, by God, you are changed!

Seriously, your kids are cute. Just upload a picture of Asher playing his guitar and call it a day.

Here's where I'm going. I spend a great amount of mental energy wishing I was more spiritual, beating myself up for not being more disciplined, and wistfully longing for the days when I could read my bible and have my quiet time, and spend meaningful time in prayer without having to accomodate anyone else's needs or schedules. I am comparing life in a stream to life in a tumbler. And then, in my all-or-nothing fallacy-based mindset, I reason that since life can't be like it was in the stream, then why even bother?

But you know what I forgot? That I don't change me. All the faithful practices in the world will not change me. Of course God uses those means, but if he places me in a stage of life where I have the time and stamina for a few desperate words of prayer and a chapter or two of Scripture, then I can trust that He will do all that needs to be done with that meager offering.

But instead, I blow it off all together most days. Because I can't do the "all" that I have decided I must do. But the reality is, I am being changed. In this season that appears to be the least spiritual, the most removed from time with God, He is actually doing the most in me I think.

And probably, one day, I'll get put back in that peaceful river. Much smoother, much more polished than the young stones around me. And I will let them know that God is here, but He will be even closer in the tumbler.