Good and Best

My life is completely full.  I realize that I'm not stating anything that isn't true for a vast majority of the world, but it's true.  Completely filled up.  Lots of people, lots of stuff, lots of responsibilities, lots of work.  Oh, and on a good week, at least a little bit of exercise.  Family.  Friends.  Church.  Neighbors.  Friends that are neighbors and go with us to church and hang out with our family.  Cooking.  Cleaning (at least now and then).  Homeschooling.  Well, homeschool gym class, and helping Amanda process the rest of homeschooling.  Writing is inconsistent because life is too full.  I can only remember one book that I read purely for fun in the last 10 years. (And I only chug through about 40-50 a year...)  I mean FULL, people!  And don't get me wrong--full of incredibly GOOD things.  I have an incredible wife, four terrific kids, I get to earn an income doing something I both love and am called to do, we have great friends, a wonderful house... it's all good.  And full.

As I write this, I know the exact same thing is true for many of you who will read this.  In fact, even more full for some.  My kids are still in the "chase them around and keep them out of trouble" age, which is not to be confused with the "drive them around in order to try to keep them out of trouble" teenage years or the "follow them around and bail them out of trouble" years that none of us hope for but lots live through.  I currently cannot imagine adding the chaos of four teenage schedules to our life, but it doesn't really take higher math to discover that it's coming, and it's not that far away.  So for those of you in that boat currently, I pray with you that the boat doesn't sink...

But here's the real question that I've been pondering on this very full day in the midst of a full week in the midst of what seems to be a full life: As my life fills up constantly to overflowing with lots of good stuff, am I somehow missing the best?  When God called me to Himself and transformed my heart and mind and outlook on the world around me, was this what He had in mind?  I've been studying the gospel of Mark, and have again and again just been wrecked by how much of the life of Jesus is almost nowhere to be found in me.  The things He was most passionate about I seem to have very little, if any, connection with.  The activities that filled His life look an awful lot different than the activities that fill my life.  He reacts to people (and their annoying habit of interrupting everything that seems important at any given moment) dramatically differently than I do.  I see all of that, and I wonder... have I been so filled up with the good that I missed the best?

I'm old enough to remember the Atari 2600.  Old school video games with joysticks and the ridiculous paddle wheels that got all jumpy after about 10 minutes of use and could no longer stay steady enough to hit the ball on "SuperBreakout" when the ball started moving really fast.  I had one of the early versions: a large machine in black plastic and brown wood grain, with these shiny levers that could be depressed and then would spring back up to the top of their slot.  I can see it in my mind so clearly: the "reset" button.  When things didn't work right, when Pitfall Harry died before his time, when the space aliens landed on the ground with loud, robotic "UH"--you just hit "reset" and started over.

What would it look like to gather my wife and family around me and in one quick motion, hit reset?  Cancel it all and start over.  Of course, there are many reasons that would be an absolutely terrible idea.  But in some ways... However, life can't be reset.  That said, the out of control feeling that most of us constantly live with in our very "full of good stuff" lives--it's actually an illusion.  We do have a choice.  We don't have to do what we've always done just because we've always done it.  We're allowed to stop.  Of course, there are consequences.  But I wonder if those consequences are terribly worse than the slow decay of our souls when that hole that was intended for "best" is systematically stuffed full of the "good" and we feel the constant, nagging reality that all of this "good" will never satisfy us.

I was studying Mark 1 today.  Jesus was given a call at baptism in the form of the Father's declaration of His identity.  That identity was tested in the wilderness.  When He emerged, He declared the outworking of that call--the Kingdom of God was at hand, and everyone everywhere should repent and believe the Good News of the gospel.  He went to the synagogue to teach, and suddenly there's this demon possessed dude in front of Him.  He casts out the demon, the man is healed, and chaos ensues.  Suddenly, everyone needs to be healed.  So He does.  One after another, from sundown until late into the night.  The next morning, He rises early, likely still full of the "good" from the day before.  He meets with the Father.  The expectation and even pressure is clearly to continue meeting the needs of the sick and the broken--we hear as much in Peter's frantic call to Jesus when they finally find Him.  But Jesus says "no, thanks."  Healing is good.  But that's not why I came.  It's not the best.  I must get back to doing the best.  And, despite everyone's expectations, despite what was clearly common sense, despite every outward indication of success, He rejects the good and embraces the best.

There's nothing that says you and I can't do that.  We just have to have the courage.