"Be still, and know that I am God." Psalm 46:10 NIV
If asked if I'm picky, I'll answer no. That's not my style of control. I like to be flexible and open-minded, and I hope most people find that I'm easy and pleasant to be around. But ask me if I'm particular, and that's a different story.
I'm particular about how the dishwasher is loaded because obviously, the bowls fit best on the lower right rack. I'm particular about the sleeves of the t-shirts facing the same direction when folded because they stack better that way. I'm particular about eating my food while it's piping hot, and get a little grouchy when I have to wait at the dinner table for my less temperature-concerned family members to arrive. I'm particular about practically every aspect of my work that might reflect back onto me: graphics, emails, packaging, branding. I'm particular about how the kids look when we go out, especially when we take family photos.
Being particular is normal. We all have our preferences. It's when those particularities become cemented in our minds as the only way that they cross over to the arena of control. Ouch, right? Control is especially ugly when I prioritize my own preferences over my care for another person. It's what happens when I rearrange the dishwasher, huffing under my breath about my son's incompetency in doing it right. It's the urge to take over when my daughter is not folding her clothes properly and the self-righteousness that comes out when I take a bite before we all gather to pray because I just spent all this time making food and I want to eat it while it's hot. It's the overworked and stressed-out result of not asking for help or trusting another person to do what I mistakenly think only I can do and not caring if the sweater is itchy or the pair of pants is uncomfortable because it is what I want you to wear, and you will wear it.
My preferences are usually harmless, but they can creep in quietly, and soon enough I find myself being particular about more than just the day-to-day things like promptness and how the pillows are arranged on the couch. Instinctively, my eyes search and my hands grasp for opportunities to express my way. Control makes me feel powerful, and I like feeling powerful. It puts me and my great ideas in charge, and I think me and my ideas are pretty great. It allows me to be responsible for me, and that feels better than trusting. But control can also cause me to hurt and disregard others and make poor choices. Control assumes that I know best, but what God whispers (or sometimes hollers) is a knowing of a different kind.
"Be still and know," he says.
"Know that I am God."
So I humble myself and find my rightful place once again.
Relinquishing control reminds us that we're not truly in charge. Letting go of the need for things to go our way allows space for God to have His way in us. Releasing control is just one of many small ways we make room for new growth. Life with God is the very best partnership, and it's one big, amazing lesson in collaborating, considering, and giving up control. This is what leads to real rest.
(This is an excerpt from Chapter 6 of my upcoming book, an illustrated memoir about identity, transformation, and Jesus' invitation to real rest. I can't wait for you to have it in your hands next spring. If you want to be on the waitlist for early notification, please leave a comment and I'll add you to the wait list!)