Wow, my speaking fast is over, and …
I don’t really want it to be, surprisingly. There’s something maddening about not being able to use words, but also incredibly liberating. I mentioned in my comments yesterday that I felt frustrated. That came and went, but a strange peace also settled on me for most of the evening. The funniest moment came when Noah, our 11 year old, asked Shauna why I wasn’t talking.
“God told him not to, honey.”
“Oh. Okay.” He didn’t bat an eye. Hilarious!
Major lessons: Most of my words are fluff. Unnecessary. Not exactly how Jesus lived: “My father tells me what to say and how to say it.” (from John somewhere).
My frustration came largely from my need for control, which I never would have seen so clearly without this little fast. I need to let go of my need to sway things. See, I’m a writer and speaker. I’m great with words. I can steer things, move things, change things, all with my words. And I like it. And sometimes, it’s not godly.
Reminds me of James 3, where James says the tongue is like a bit in the mouth of a horse. A rudder for a large ship. My tongue, my words, literally shape the direction of my life. But both of those illustrations have a third party. For the horse and bit, there’s a rider. With the ship and rudder, there’s a captain. Both act on the steering mechanism. The subtle message there is that if God has my tongue, he’s got ME.
Our church has been doing great, but there hasn’t been a supernatural liftoff. At least part of that lies with me because of my fluff. My control. What if my words were God’s words a whole lot more often? What if I let him be the rider, the captain, of my words — of my life?
Jesus, I’m yours. Keep teaching me. Moving me. Be my rider, my captain, my king. And I think I may just be quieter today. Thanks for yesterday. For your mercy and grace. And patience. Amen.