My Yoke

This past week I celebrated six months of living in Hungary.

I am shocked at how quickly the time has gone. I remember that first night, pulling the blankets around my face, overcome by the smell of my childhood, tears leaking down my face as I realized the seemingly irreversible decision to move here.

I think back to those early days of public transportation, the first Saturday in the city, and the terror of having to speak Hungarian.

I think about meeting my students on Open House night: the expectancy and the first impressions, the way they looked at me and tried to figure out who I am.

I think about our staff retreat and getting to know my coworkers and friends. I think about our student retreat, and the way those relationships began to develop.

I think about joining the gospel choir, and how my Tuesday nights were saturated with singing, praising, languages, and joy.

I think about Saturday adventuring in the city, sunsets over the Danube, and reading The Chronicles of Narnia to Nagyi.

I think about Christmas with my family, time away from the constant lesson planning of school, and the time to breathe.

These months have been so rich, and the Lord has been drawing me ever closer to Him. In many ways this has looked like exposing insecurities and pride in my life (as moving to another country and culture will often do).

I have also realized how fear constantly ties me down from taking risks, from trying new things, from meeting new people, from speaking Hungarian. The Lord has been ever so gentle revealing these things to me through His precious people.

And then I came across this quote from Elisabeth Elliott:
"Fear arises when we think everything depends on us."

This has ultimately been the root of so much of my fear and worry. It's the fear of committing cultural blunders, it's the fear of misspeaking or sounding stupid. It's the fear of being inadequate and of failing to bring others closer to Jesus, because my Messiah Complex is still an underlying issue of mine.

But then Matthew 11:28-30 tells me something different: "Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."

I've spent many times in the last few months informing God, that His yoke is not easy and His burden is not light.

His response, once again, ever so gentle: My child, you're the one adding unnecessary burdens, unnecessary weight. Learn from Me. Learn from My example. 

So I began to ask Him to take off the yoke I've burdened myself with, and to yoke me to Himself. That I would keep in step with His Spirit.

What yoke would you have me take up? What burden would you have me carry?

As I sat in silence, contemplating this, I thought of Jesus. I thought of the way He sought the Father's presence even amidst exhausting ministry. While He spent His days laboring among people who continually misunderstood Him at best, and rejected Him at worst, He didn't burn out. He found rest in the Father's presence.

My presence. 

I must make His presence a priority. Regardless of how "busy" I feel, I must take time to retreat into His presence.

Trust Me. 

Jesus trusted the Father completely. He laid down His will, taking up the Father's. I want to follow Christ's example in laying down my will, my plans, and my dreams.

Trust My timing.

There were countless times when Jesus avoided situations, or went directly into situations because of the Father's timing. He trusted the Father's timing, and didn't force things to happen outside of His timing.

When I look at this yoke and this burden, there is a definite weight lifted. Because I'm removed from the equation. It's no longer about me, what I can contribute, and what I can do. It's all about pushing my questions onto Him, and allowing Him to deal with them in His timing.  He's big enough to handle my doubts, fears, and questions. And the more time I spend in His presence, the deeper my trust grows.

Laying Down Pride

My first month of acknowledging the Lord as "Guide" in my life has been a not-so-fun one.
Because to acknowledge Him as Guide means I have to acknowledge that I'm lost. That I need Him. That I don't know the way.

I hate feeling lost. The panic, the inadequacy, and the uncertainty are things I could definitely do without.

But it seems in order to be guided by Him, I need to give up my own ways first. And really, this shouldn't be any kind of new thought. It's all over scripture. I just failed to realize how far-reaching and deeply rooted my own pride is.

"He leads the humble in what is right, and teaches the humble His way" (Psalm 25:9). How can He possibly lead me in His way when I'm still determined to go my own?

I remember telling my class of sixth graders in devotions about this verse, and praying for humility. And then the waves of failure crashed against me and I began moping that life's not fair. I was getting annoyed at God for not answering my prayer requests.

Later that week, we circled back to this passage, and there it was, so obvious: of course if I'm going to pray for humility, God will answer. And it will hurt, because nobody likes having their pride broken. Nobody likes feeling like a failure.

I have this Messiah complex. I always have. In fact, my favorite daydream as a first grader was that I was the playground "watchdog" and that when I was on duty, all the children behaved. Seriously. (I must have been so fun to be around...)

I somehow think I have all the answers. That every student will respond well to me. That I am this amazing, can't-get-any-better kind of educator, that I will "make" a kid's life, that I have the power to change circumstances outside of my control, that I'm some kind of miracle worker.

I so wish. But this is also just a grown-up form of my first grade daydream.

The thing is, by nurturing this Messiah complex (aptly named), I am trying to take the place of Christ. I am forever thinking that it is my duty to draw people closer to Him (which is a very easy lie to believe as a missionary). It is my duty to plant seeds, but I can never cause dead seeds to germinate. It is my duty to water, but I can never cause dry ground to produce a bountiful harvest of healthy fruit.

I keep trying to take the place of Jesus in my students' lives. And when I suddenly discover that I can't, I'm bitter, grumpy, and annoyed at God.

As I was licking the wounds of yet another failure, I decided to hang out in one of the most encouraging passages, 2 Corinthians 12:9-10, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness..." These words were salve to my wounds. Until I decided to read the context (that I so often ignore). In the early part of chapter 12, Paul is talking about the thorn in his flesh that he has begged God to remove. But God's response is no. Instead, he leaves the thorn in Paul's flesh so that he may learn humility. And so verse 9 actually begins, "But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." It is through this thorn that Paul discovers true weakness, and learns of God's power that is perfected when paired with our weakness.

God showed me that there are certain circumstances He will not take away from me, because He wants me to rely on Him. To lean into Him. Because let's be honest, if this improved, I would only pat myself on the back and tell my Guide to beat it because I know the way from here.

I am learning that I do not know the way. I cannot go one step without my Guide. He is everything.

And so my prayer becomes "Jesus, be in me all that I can't be."