"Do Whatever it Takes"

Of course, being good Christians, we say things in our prayers like, "Dear God, you are so holy, and you want me to be like you.  Because you want it, I want it too.  Lord, take control.  I'll give you everything.  Just do whatever it takes to make me like you."

I say it all the time, and I mean it when I say it, but I've observed in my own life that I quickly forget that I said that.  I'm finding myself frantically grabbing back my words when "whatever it takes" turns into tests and trials.  I'm forgetting that all I want to be is what God wants of me.

This is, of course, natural.  We are humans, after all.  I console myself with this thought until I remember that God is supernatural, he dwells within us, and he has called us to be like him.  That excuse is pointless now.  What about God understands that we aren't perfect?  Well, we know he understands that we aren't because he had to command us to become so.  If you use that excuse, you are forced to admit your disobedience so far in that area.  And what's your excuse for that?

What about the Satan implanted "I didn't know what I was asking for!" excuse?  Go back to the time you asked God to change you.  You knew exactly what you wanted.  You knew that the easy road would never get you there.  You knew that anything worth while cost something to achieve.  You knew that because you have a sin nature you would struggle every day with what God wants you to do.  You knew exactly what you were asking for.

People tend to use this excuse jokingly when talking about asking God for patience.  May I remind you, you are laughing at a solemn plea that you made to a holy God, and now you're excusing yourself by saying something directly from Satan.  When excuses from God's will become jokes to laugh about, Satan truly has a foothold in your heart.

On the subject of learning patience, though, I started asking God to give me patience and teach me to be like him about a month ago.  Immediately, responsibilities I'd never foreseen piled up in front of me and I cried out for God to remove them for a week.

When the truth finally shone through, it was as if God were lifting me out of the burdens and just to where I could see the top of the mountain I'd come across, reminding me gently that he was in control, and he wouldn't send anything I couldn't reach.  It was only a moment's glance, but it was all I needed.  I know that the top of the mountain is up there, and I know that my burden is nothing that God didn't place on me and can't take off again.

Giving up Control

I am a very controlling individual.  I need to have things my way, or they'll never work out.  Things can only be done my way, even if those things aren't under my control.  While this may work out very well in a debating situation, I haven't had to use my strategies for that yet.  All of my control only leaves me stressed, worried, and worn out.
I had to take control of how everyone else saw me, so from the time I was about four, I followed the rules to being a model child in front of others.  I was the model Christian in front of others.  I read my Bible and prayed every day so I could raise my hand and say so in Sunday-school, which I was at every week without fail.  For a long time, that worked out.  No one doubted that I was who I said I was, and I'd been playing the charade so long that occasionally I convinced myself.  I couldn't convince God, though.  He kept giving me opportunities to do what I said I'd done years ago and offer my life over to Him.  I ignored them.
Eventually, though, my perfect world rocked out of my uncapable control.  Things I never thought would take place became a part of my life and showed me all too plainly that although the rest of my family had a Saviour to turn to, I was desolately all alone in the biggest trial I had ever known.  Thankfully, I also had the perfect opportunity to get a Solid Rock to stand on for the next trial.
Our family was in a new church, and I went to camp with their youth group.  It was a Christian camp, so going fit into my role perfectly.  That camp was where I dropped my mask for the first time.  I admitted that I didn't think I was a Christian, and my counselor showed me how to become one.  I could have quoted everything she said back at her, but I was letting it sink in for the first time in my life.  It did, and I got saved on August 9, 2011.
So this is where Jesus took the wheel, led me through some difficult patches, helped me to come out victorious for a lot of them, and forgave me when I didn't.
Well, that's how it's supposed to be.  For a few months, that's how it was, but before I left camp there had been one thing my counselor had told me would stand between me and God.  She said I needed to clear it up as soon as I could before it ate into my new spiritual life and destroyed it completely.  I let my fear win, which brings me to part two of my story.
I'm not sure how it happened exactly, but I'm starting to realize that it was just a piece at a time.  Fear, anger, bitterness, and rebellion crept into my life, and by February I had quit my devotions.  I determined that I no longer wanted to be associated with God, so I ran away from Him as best I could.  Around May, I took a huge trash bag into my room and absolutely cleaned it out.  By this, I mean I threw away everything I owned that had a Christian meaning to it except my Bibles, some books, and a couple articles of jewelry.  I threw out every journal that I'd ever written a Christian song or a prayer in and stuffed my Bibles in the bottom drawer of my dresser, buried beneath my sweatshirts.
I was prepared to become a professing atheist by the time camp rolled around again, but since old habits are not quickly broken, not even my mom knew that.  No one knew that I cussed the people around me under my breath, developed a code so I could write filthy things under the guise of "taking notes" during a sermon, or dreamed of doing abominable things in my near future.  Everyone still thought I was the good little Christian girl who knew all the Sunday-school answers and wants God's best for my life.  They had absolutely no idea that I was mocking God's best in my heart and staying as far away from it as I could.
I've always opened up at camp, probably because I know that I'll never meet these people again.  I told my counselor exactly how I felt about Christianity.  I knew I was a Christian, but I didn't want to be classified as one.  I'd rather be in the world.  I can have more fun that way and still escape eternal punishment because I know I'm saved.  I was prepared for her to quote Romans 6:1.  I would tell her that I wasn't continuing in sin so grace may abound, I was continuing in sin because I wanted to continue in sin.  What God chose to do with his grace was not my problem.  She never asked that question.  She asked me what I wasn't prepared to answer, although it was more the genuine love and caring of the questioner than the question itself that really tied up my tongue.  All she asked was what that meant I believed about God.  I told her I'd get back to her, and she gave me the rest of the week to deal with my own doubts concerning my lack of faith.  I found out later that she'd been talking to a lot of people and praying with them about me, but even earlier in the week I wouldn't have been surprised.  She was the real deal, and I was realizing that vacation is a lot more fun when you aren't under constant conviction.
By Thursday night, I'd had enough.  I had finally realized once and for all that I was wrong to run from God like I was doing, and I needed to come back.  I have never been so afraid in my life when the thought came, "What if you've gone too far?  What if He doesn't want you back?"  I had a vague memory of a lesson about how God is trying to get to each of us, but He's walking by and eventually He'll pass on.  At the time, I couldn't remember that it was about the offer of salvation, not to Christians, and the thought of God going past me had me in incredible fear all through the evening service.  Twice I almost asked our cabins prayer partner to go outside and talk with me, but I didn't either time.  By the invitation, I must have been squirming in my seat, and miraculously, the speaker must have been speaking of surrendering your life to God.  When he asked if there was anyone who wanted to give their life back to God, I raised my hand.  My counselor was sitting behind me, and she says her mouth dropped open despite the fact that she'd been begging God to let me raise my hand.  When the invitation started, I finally asked our prayer partner to go talk with me, and I gave up everything to God.  When I say everything, I mean everything.  It was awesome.  Almost like being saved all over again, although this time knowing what's going to happen when you get home and praying for confidence.  I prayed, and God answered.
I got that bitterness outrooted, and I'm finally starting to have a meaningful devotional life.  There have been a lot more little control issues since, but I'm slowly but surely handing the control over my Lord, Jesus Christ.