Dressage and Diety

Contentment is such a fragile human condition. Perhaps because it's not one that we experience naturally, not something that in our fallen state is easily embraced. It's different than happiness, than excitement or pleasure. It's something that God specifically commanded and expects of us as believers. It's something that molds us more into the image of Christ. And sometimes, it's something that is the next best thing to impossible to acheive. What is more frustrating than an inability to achieve something of importance? You know when the thing that you're reaching for seems intentionally placed right outside of your reach, just close enough to taunt you but too far for your fingertips to do more than impotently brush against it? Promotions, relationships, happiness, dreams, cookies...all of these things can seem impossible for us to attain, which is incredibly frustrating. But worse than that is the achievement of a goal, only to have it slip once again through your fingers. Grasping the prize only to lose your grip and forfeit the reward. For me, contentment has been a bit of a slippery booger lately. Over the past several months I've struggled through some deep, dark valleys of shadow, and peaked over the summit of some beautiful mountaintops with my Jesus. I've gained and lost and been given such incredible mercy and peace and JOY in the moment. I've seen the best and worst that I am capable of as a person. And through it all, I have crossed to and fro over the line of being content and submitted to God and his working in my life. After my last post, God miraculously gave me freedom from the bitterness and anger that was ruling and destroying my life. It was one of the most incredibly beautiful experiences, and I have never felt such a direct answer to the cry of my heart. Over the past few weeks, I've experienced the presence of God in such sweet, quiet ways. There is such beauty in the mundane when you're in the center of God's will, living a life that you're certain he gave just to you. When I drive my morning route, reveling in the purity of a fog-encased countryside or the power of a horse in full, free motion, when I see the power of nature in a lightening storm or the quiet beauty of a herd of deer grazing at twilight, I feel an almost painful happiness and contentment with life. But it seems that on the heels of the strength comes the weakness. Directly after the summit experience, you plunge off a cliff and the height of the summit makes the valley seem deeper. I'm honestly not sure how much of that is Satan attacking a threat, and how much is God testing a strong follower. Because he's clear that he will bring trials to test and strengthen the faith of the faithful, just as we clearly know that Satan is a master tempter and brings trials to tempt those who threaten his agenda. Whatever the purpose of the struggle, the outcomes are the same. Either you remain strong and bring glory to God and a strengthening of your faith, or you become weak and play into Satan's hand and have to rebuild your faith. I feel a tug of discontent, of wanting more, wanting different, wanting to DO to BE to HAVE something new. I feel the push to rush God's timing, to make things in my life move faster than he is allowing. I feel almost a panic to regain control of my life and put myself back on the throne. Yesterday, I rode a dressage horse. Now, for those of you who are not horse people, dressage is very different than most disciplines. It is very controlled, and is based on an intense connection between a 1200 lb horse and a fragile human. Your cues from yours aids (hands, legs, seat, etc) should be minimal and nearly invisible. Calf pressure instead of kicking, fingertip movement instead of pulling on the reins, subtle shifting in the saddle. When it works it is the most beautiful testament of strength under control, of humility on a huge scale, as this powerful animal brings its will into a lovely submission to the will of the rider. When it goes bad, it is monumentally frustrating for both. Yesterday was not lovely. She was resistant, I was frustrated, and neither of us was willing to meet halfway. I was not in control, and she was not free to submit. We were both pushing and pulling, straining against the strictures of the rules and there was NO communication going on. If only she had yeilded her control for a moment, given me her head, and gotten on the bit, we would have been able to fix the problem and build the communication. But she was not in a yeilding mood. So both of us ended up mad, exhausted from fighting, and wanting to do anything but spend more time together. So often I find myself the stiff, unyeilding dressage horse to God's patient rider. He's gently working me toward this beautiful partnership, this unit of cooperation that makes observers marvel at the seemingly invisible connection between the two teammates. He's pressing me forward gently, tugging me side to side, trying to gain my submission so that I can respond properly to his cues. But I continue on awkwardly, stubbornly holding my head high in the air, refusing to yeild to the subtle pressure and causing myself and my God untold heartache. I careen recklessly around the arena, running into things, knocking things over, wreaking havoc and getting nowhere. If only I could just stop resisting, soften my stance and bring my head down so that I could feel his gentle pressure toward the goal of his perfect plan. How frustrating such a partner must be to God. I'm sure he sometimes wishes he could "go western" on me and apply the spurs and whip, breaking my spirit to his spirit. But instead, he gently works the bit and continues to press me softly, until, spirit intact, I finally bow my will to his and bring myself into submission. How much more rewarding is a willing, submissive servant than a resentful, unyeilded slave. So what will it be? Servant or Slave? Beautiful submission or ugly resentment? It's my choice, because God does not force submission.