Well Walking

A man sits by a pool of water. His legs are twisted an useless. He can do little for himself, so he begs for his lively hood. Life has not been cherries for him, so he curses the wind and growls as people skip by. He stopped dreaming long ago of the life he could have led. A stranger approaches him. There is something about him that seems...? The stranger asks the man a question. "Do you want to be well?" The man listens to the question and wonders if he heard correctly. Here he sits dirty, alone, and motionless and the stranger dares to ask him "do you want to be well"? The answer should be simple. It should take the minimum effort of one word. YES. Instead, he finds that his mouth can't form that word. He gives the stranger a what? An excuse. My life is terrible. No one treats me well. All I want is to get into the pool and yet I can't.

That isn't what the stranger asked. So why couldn't he just say 'yes'? Maybe he doesn't really want healing. Maybe he prefers the pity to a promise that comes with a price. Effort.

That is a story based on John 5: 1-15. Jesus approaches an invalid of 38 years and asks him the most ridiculous question possible. "Do you want to get well?" That's like asking a homeless person, "hey, want a house?" The answer should be there before the question is asked. OF COURSE! Of course the lame want to leap and the homeless long for shelter. And yet...

The man responded with an excuse for laying there. As if, faced with the presence of this (I imagine) radiant stranger, he felt some guilt for just sitting there. He didn't say yes. Maybe he knew what might happen if he did. Jesus told him to "Get up! Pick up your mat and walk" (8). He didn't lift the man to his feet and show him how to move. He didn't hand him a bag of money or the deed to a new home. He didn't even offer to pick up his mat and carry it for him. In essence, he told the man to get himself up, clean up his mess and move on.

How often do I sit on my mat by the pool hoping for pity? I don't think it's intentional, but sometimes I just want someone to show they care about what I'm dealing with. "This is really hard for me. Let me tell you about it for a while" When Jesus shows up and asks me that question "do you want to get well?" My soul screams "YES", but my actions give excuses and keep me on the mat. I continue to sit, starring at the water, hoping someone will lift me into it.

Jesus gives us the ability to do what needs doing, but we have to take the next step. He'll hold you while you cry, sit with you while you grieve, but when it's time to move you have to take the step. If a parent constantly carries their child for fear they will get hurt if left alone, the child will never learn to walk. Never be able to take steps of independence. If God is our father, than doesn't it hold that he wants us to be able to take steps too?

The man was comfortable in his ailment, it was all he knew. While likely his greatest dream, to actually be healed was out his comfort zone. Pity parties are easy. Walking is not. Not when you haven't used those legs in while. There is pain as the feeling returns. There is stiffness as unused muscles stretch. But you wanted to get well.

Next he asks you to pick up your mat. Pick up the mess you were sitting in. Pick up the pieces. Don't leave it for the next person, don't kick it to the side. Get rid of it. Do it when people think you're nuts for giving something up. Do it when YOU think you're nuts for giving something up. Then "walk". Move on, get over it, put it in the rear view. Move away from the pool and its trappings and tell everyone you meet who made you well. He gave you the ability, but you have to make the move.

Live well, tell others, the end.

Letting Go

All through college, during the hot and hazy summers, I worked as a lifeguard at a summer camp. That camp was like my shangri-la. Whatever stress I had felt trying to fit into the collegiate mold melted away in the 100% humidity and heat. One of the first things you see as you enter the property is a huge wooden, for lack of a better term, jungle gym. It's called an Alpine Tower and the second you see it the kid in you says, "must climb". There are several sides to the tower, from easy to pee-your-pants hard. You pick a side, lock into a harness and climb.

The tower is 50 feet tall, and not being into lawsuits, they don't let you climb solo. You are tethered to a trained belayer. The belayer's job is to give you just enough slack to climb on your own power, but not so much that if you fall you play pancake on the ground. You have to communicate with the belayer so they know what you're up to. Before you start your accent you'd better make sure the guy/gal who has your rope is paying attention (see pancake comment above). The belayer lets you know they've got you and up you go.

The first few steps are exhilarating. You are far enough off the ground to feel gravity's insistent pull and tackling this mammoth piece of pine feels easy. As you get higher and are trying to hunt for footholds, you may start to get a little shaky. The ground starts to look very big and the people on it very small. You cling a little tighter to hand holds and maybe slow a bit (unless your a counselor named Wolfgang, but I digress..). The entire way up the belayer--who was introduced to you before you began--calls your name and encourages your progress. If you need to stop they let you, and patiently wait until your nerve returns.

You make it to the top. Amazing! You've just scaled this behemoth and now you have a bird's eye view of all God's glory (or what can be found of it in Antioch). Your muscles probably ache and your hands feel as though you've been hanging on for dear life, which you may have been, but you knew someone was there to catch you if your grip slipped.

So you've made it up...now what? What goes up...must come down. It should be easy. All you have to do is let go. The belayer says he's got you. You know he's down there, you trusted him all the way up, but now? "I have to let go?" "Can't I climb down?" "I'm a pretty big girl, or at least I feel like I am right now."

That is the best explanation I have for my walk with God. When I was young, before "life" really set in, I talked to Him. I learned His name and He knew mine. He said He had me and I trusted and begin the climb. When I started to stumble, or couldn't find a grip, He reminded me He was still there. When I needed rest He let me take it, and then urged me onward. I knew He was there, but I had some control. I WAS CLIMBING. I had the grips, He just had my back. I trusted that.

But then you reach a pinnacle. You hit the point where you have to let go. It's time to completely give yourself over. You can't go any further on your own strength. It's His turn. You can't climb down, and jumping is certain death, so you have to figure it out, but how can you let go of the only thing you understand? You understand the climb, but the free fall is another matter. You can make the decision to try to make it down on your own, but then you have to traverse the same shake-inducing path blind and backwards.

In my story, when I hit the top, I froze. The belayer encouraged, comforted, chided and eventually shouted, "Woman, I got this. Let go!" I did. If you think getting to the top is amazing...wait til you hit the ground again!

So for myself, and for anyone else reading. I know it's scary, but He's got you. Let go.

"Anyone who intends to come with me has to let me lead. You're not in the driver's seat; I am. Don't run from suffering; embrace it. Follow me and I'll show you how. Self-help is no help at all. Self-sacrifice is the way, my way, to finding yourself, your true self. " Matthew 16:25 The Message