A Chair and An Escalator
As I've walked into spring, I am more and more convicted of how selfish I really am. And how much I want to sculpt my life into the sculpture of my own choosing and my own design rather than my Father's. I often find myself behind the potter's wheel, trying to mold and shape my plans and desires and wants, but it usually ends up nothing but a clump of clay.
This past Sunday I sat in a very crowded Easter service at my church. I enjoyed seeing friends and hearing the message, but I was most moved by a simple gesture that I witnessed. A friend I have known and admired for years was in town visiting his family for the holiday. At some point in the service, the pastor instructed us to greet one another, and as I stood behind my friend, I saw him stand and look around at all the people who didn't have seats. He picked up his chair and walked to the back of the auditorium and gave his chair to a young mother and her baby who had been standing in the back. I thought about it later and asked myself, "Would I have given up my seat? Could I do it without thinking or questioning or deliberating? Could it be something innate, real, and not performed?" And then I began to think what it means to give up my seat in all moments of life. First, to Christ, and then to others.
Last week my children and I were at LAX preparing to fly back to St. Louis. It was rather busy, and as usual, I had too much luggage to juggle. We made it through the ticket line, got our luggage all checked, and headed towards the security check for everything else. I noticed an escalator that would take us right up to the security check, so we walked over and I handed the guy our tickets. He looked at me and said, "You're not first class." At that moment, I noticed a sign that said "First Class Passangers Only." The guy instructed me to walk all the way around to the elevator. My first reaction, filled with self, was to grumble under my breath and feel sorry for myself. And then I stopped and though I'd love to say that I'm holy and pure and I changed my heart on my own, it was more like one of those bricks falling from the sky and a vision of Christ, my King, on the cross, bleeding. Oh, that's it. That's right. Now I remember. And I smiled, a deep, joyful smile, as I walked all the way around to the elevator and up to the security check.
When I step away from the wheel and let God do His work, I realize that all my plans and desires and wants should always be just one thing. To be like Christ. I pray my days will be filled with giving up my seat and taking the long way around, just to see and know more of Christ on this earth.
This past Sunday I sat in a very crowded Easter service at my church. I enjoyed seeing friends and hearing the message, but I was most moved by a simple gesture that I witnessed. A friend I have known and admired for years was in town visiting his family for the holiday. At some point in the service, the pastor instructed us to greet one another, and as I stood behind my friend, I saw him stand and look around at all the people who didn't have seats. He picked up his chair and walked to the back of the auditorium and gave his chair to a young mother and her baby who had been standing in the back. I thought about it later and asked myself, "Would I have given up my seat? Could I do it without thinking or questioning or deliberating? Could it be something innate, real, and not performed?" And then I began to think what it means to give up my seat in all moments of life. First, to Christ, and then to others.
Last week my children and I were at LAX preparing to fly back to St. Louis. It was rather busy, and as usual, I had too much luggage to juggle. We made it through the ticket line, got our luggage all checked, and headed towards the security check for everything else. I noticed an escalator that would take us right up to the security check, so we walked over and I handed the guy our tickets. He looked at me and said, "You're not first class." At that moment, I noticed a sign that said "First Class Passangers Only." The guy instructed me to walk all the way around to the elevator. My first reaction, filled with self, was to grumble under my breath and feel sorry for myself. And then I stopped and though I'd love to say that I'm holy and pure and I changed my heart on my own, it was more like one of those bricks falling from the sky and a vision of Christ, my King, on the cross, bleeding. Oh, that's it. That's right. Now I remember. And I smiled, a deep, joyful smile, as I walked all the way around to the elevator and up to the security check.
When I step away from the wheel and let God do His work, I realize that all my plans and desires and wants should always be just one thing. To be like Christ. I pray my days will be filled with giving up my seat and taking the long way around, just to see and know more of Christ on this earth.
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