I've never been the kind of girl who looks forward to a workout.
Sure, give me a few pals, a ball and some open green space, and I'll run around all day. Put me in a Zumba class and I'll boogie till they kick me out. I'll stretch out to the max in a yoga class or traipse around city sidewalks for hours. But weight rooms and gym equipment have long been a personal enemy, so imagine my surprise when God met me on an elliptical.
When I married Austin, I married into a YMCA membership, so I figured that could only be beneficial for our overall health. Fast forward to February when we realized we'd gone nearly five months without stepping foot into the building. I gave AC the ultimatum: cancel or kick it into high gear. (Obviously, I was hoping he'd choose cancel so we could have uninterrupted couch dates rewatching The Office, but alas.)
So I hit the gym with high hopes and low expectations, not sure how I'd make the gym worth my time. I found my place among the ellipticals. Nearly two decades of cheering and tumbling has laid my knees to an early waste, and my inherent fear of treadmills kept me far from those dreadful conveyor belts, but the windowed wall overlooking the river pulled me in from the get-go. I forged some confidence, mounted the machine, fiddled with a few buttons and tuned into my favorite podcast, just hoping I wouldn't make a fool of myself.
As my legs pushed forward and my eyes fixed on the motion of the river across the way, a conversation between Annie F. Downs and Jefferson and Alyssa Bethke filled my ears. I'm pretty sure they were talking about families and couples and singles and the Church and ministry, but one question and its response are all I remember.
"God, do You care more about my ministry than You do about my heart?"
Annie recalled a season when she'd secretly asked this question, feeling God wasn't answering her prayers the way she wanted. She--without telling anyone, scared of what people would think--believed the Lord cared more about doing good work through her life than working good in her heart.
In the split second before her response followed her question, I felt my entire self answer with a confident, Absolutely.
"No, of course He cares more about our hearts."
The words hit me hard, tears wetting my eyes as I tried to keep my speed steady. I fought to find 'pause' before my emotions sent me flying off the machine in a tearful fit. In the silence and rhythmic motion, I asked God to show me His love for me. Not for the world, not for others--that I believed in the depths of my core. Just me.
I'm a long-time subscriber to the idea, "God cares more about His glory than our happiness." [The key here is to note the difference between happiness and joy.] To this day I believe this truth, the notion that God's glory throughout the earth is what keeps the planet in motion, not His answering each of our petty, human requests. It's the same reason I fight off frustration for every "I have a test Thursday" prayer request when entire nations are in desperate need of prayer and divine intervention--but that's a whole other conversation. Needless to say: I tend to believe God cares more for the big things (AKA entire nations, His eternal glory) than the small ones (i.e. tests on Thursdays, me).
* * * * *
Annie's question followed me to my post-workout stretch, back home and into the next morning, leading my heart to plead more and more for a deeper understanding of God's love for me. With Lent--the 40-day season often observed by fasting before Easter--just around the corner, I'd already begun searching for a food, habit or activity to fast from. But as that lingering question hovered on my heart, I felt God lead me to the book of Psalms.
The Psalms feel basic--simple yet profound, full of mourning and praises and confession and, namely, love. I want to take note of God's great love for me and the ways it's displayed in my life every day. Rather than focusing on what God wants me to write, where He wants me to work, what He wants me to do, where He wants me to live (the list goes on and on...), I want every part of me to sit in confidence that God's love fully sustains my life. Focusing on the Psalms as I prepare my heart for Easter felt like the perfect way to do so.
"For Your steadfast love is before my eyes, and I walk in Your faithfulness." Psalm 26:3
The Lord wrecked my heart on day two of my 40-day Psalms reading plan. Austin left for work at his normal *early* hour, and I tossed and turned until I saw the sun start rising on the other side of the curtains. I'm not getting up right now, I told God. There's no need in it, and I want to sleep.
As it tends to go when I tell God what I'm not going to do, my feet hit the floor within the next five minutes.
I settled into my little makeshift writing nook with a mug of tea in hand, ready to put add some words to a years-long project, when I remembered the day's allotment of Psalms reading. Within the first few verses, I was in tears and writing down a Scripture to display on the kitchen table. I felt like God had seen me for the first time in what felt like years (I'm dramatic, y'all--more like weeks).
"O Lord, in the morning You hear my voice; in the morning I prepare a sacrifice for You and watch." Psalm 5:3
That morning, God saw my frustration, my anger, my unwillingness to get up and start the work to which I know He's called me. That morning, God heard my spirit's question: do You care more about producing a good work through me than You care about my heart? That morning, God helped me prepare the sacrifice of an early morning (a big sacrifice, right?) so I could sit back and watch Him show up for me.
Nearly every day since has been a reminder of God's love for me. I've been reminded of His love for every person on this planet, His love for His own glory, His love for bringing forth good works in His children's lives, but every day God has shown up and answered that looming question over and over: He wants me, He cares for me and He loves me more than whatever works He'll produce in my life.
I'm not sure what God's up to, but I can feel myself turning the corner. As I feel this shift in seasons--from winter to spring, from waiting to doing, from watching to seeing--I'm trusting that His love for me is enough, no matter what's coming my way. I'm remembering Him, preparing a spiritual sacrifice for my King with each new sunrise, eager to watch Him move.
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Whatever season you find yourself in, I'm praying you're taking notice of God's love for you. No matter your circumstance, it's there; He's there. He always is. Would you pray I'll keep remembering that, too?
xoxo,
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