Limits to, or Limitless, Caring?

To care or not to care? That is the question. From the outset, I will say, it was Jesus' intention that we care. We're to be fully engaged in this world, not "above" it or beyond it. No, we're in it, so we'd better act like it.

But Jesus also knows that to care makes life much, much harder. So, He helps direct our focus to what is worthwhile caring about, and He directs us to stop caring (perhaps that's a little overstated -- He wants us to change the degree to which or way in which we care) about situations that only cause anxiety, situations which we cannot control or that cause us to lose sight of caring about other, greater things -- namely, His grace, His name.

To care about another person is perhaps life's hardest task. I am constantly questioning the limits I should place on caring for another person, or how to increase my compassion in cases where I'm more indifferent than God would ever agree to. There are those (people) we care too much about; there are those we don't care about enough. There are those we obsess over, whose missteps will send us reeling; there are those who we don't help enough when tragedy hits; there are those we fixate on who harm us, and we let them grow bitterness inside of us.

The solution? To ask God to put the right amount of love in the places it is most needed; to have more of His grace to ease the sting of our disappointment and to kill off resentment before it takes over, like Round-Up weed killer prevents weeds from reaching full-form. And also, to always ask for a greater measure of love where it is lacking, and wisdom to know how to apply feelings of love.

But why is love so tightly tied to other strong emotional responses? I think part of love, besides the proper sort of caring, is knowing how to manage strong responses in a loving way. Instead of nagging, let silence create a space of longing to make things better. Instead of being angry, a letting go that acknowledges all God has provided ("If God didn't do anything else [for me], He's already done enough," goes the gospel song). Have you ever teared up at the realization of God's goodness ... and two days later grappled with the struggle of loving others, feeling not thankfulness for them or for any other of God's blessings, but instead a general, overriding sense of having your formerly stable world be upset?

Where does God want us: on the stable ground, or the ground where we're turned upside down? Perhaps neither, as neither one brings us to a place where we can simultaneously enjoy -- that is, be aware of -- His goodness and love others in a real way. This is Alyosha's coming-of-age in Dostoyevsky's novel The Bothers Karamazov. While he once lived safely as a monk, he came out of that when he realized Jesus would rather see him interact with his troubled father than be set-apart all peaceful and "holy."

It takes courage, though!

Accepted, Loved, and Redeemed

It's been far too long. I miss my blog. I was inspired by one of my best friends today in what she said:


"God redeems ALL of you, every nook and cranny, every molecule, every word, every thought, for His Kingdom." What a relief that it doesn't ride on me to redeem all the ways I waste time, my energy, my thoughts, my speech. If I were to evaluate the way I use the gifts God has given me, I am afraid it would be a devastating evaluation. Good thing the ink in His pen is the color of grace, instead of hateful, unforgiving red. I think part of maturing in His grace is the act of putting the red pen away, first off of others, and importantly, off of ourselves. My binary codes of good or bad make self-evaluation an excessively stinging experience. I pray for the ability to see with steadfast love and understanding the things in my life that aren't neat, and the things that disappoint me the most about myself. I pray that God trump my inner need for organization and alignment, that God revise me with his grace-inked pen.