“Grizzly, Drop!” Letting Go of Attachments
“Grizzly, Drop!”
Without the constant reinforcement of a Milk Bone or pat of the head, this is the hardest command for Grizzly to obey. Once he finds a good stick, he wants to hang on to it. He taunts Wally or one of the pugs who live next door, baiting them into a game of keep-away. He lies down in the grass and chews on it in the afternoon sun. I throw it. He retrieves it. He begins to run toward me, then turns and trots off toward the fence line, gingerly laying the stick down, and moving a few feet away to relieve himself. He then goes back and picks up his stick and the game of fetch continues. He’s attached to his stick!
After several minutes outside, I say, “Let’s go to the house.” Grizzly comes barreling to the backdoor with the a gnarly stick between his teeth, and carefully places it by the door, ready to pick up when we come outside again. He’s like a toddler with a pacifier.
When I began this four-part series on the things that keep me from experiencing the goodness of love of God, I didn’t intentionally save the hardest for last. I simply wrote them in the order they popped in my head: Hurry, Fullness, Distraction and Attachment. But as I’ve worked my way through them, attachment is the hardest one by far. More than a change of habit or a spiritual practice, this one deals with the very idols of the heart.
One of the hard things for me to drop is my attachment to outcomes. As I mentioned earlier here , I’ve gone back to school and while I’m loving it, I see myself attaching to outcomes. I want to do well. Let’s be honest: I’m a school nerd who became a teacher. I want to make A’s, and now, I don’t know if I will. . There’s nothing wrong with a B, I tell myself, but I only think that’s OK for everyone else. This outcome I want starts driving me- maybe to the point of obsession. How many times can I proofread that paper? How many hours is too many before my brain can’t even absorb any more reading? How much detail do I really need to know about the form and structure of letters in antiquity? I’m seeing a place in my life where I need to “Drop it,” to do the best I can with the time I have and trust God for the rest.
Even harder to drop are some of my long-held images of God, even when Scripture shows me my idea was too small. One of my classes requires me to read the New Testament, usually at a clip of one to two books a week. The professor suggests reading a book in one sitting to get a better sense of the narrative. Let’s just say that when I read Matthew or Luke from beginning to end I had to grapple with Jesus being a lot more anti-establishment and upsetting to religious people than I like to think He is. He also says a lot of things like, “Blessed are you when people insult you” or “The first shall be last,” that are hard to hear if your goal in life is comfort and stability - like which mine often are. Reading Acts from beginning to end shook up my perceptions of mission and community, not to mention that wild goose of the Holy Spirit. Starting the church was messy business. I’ve had to ask myself, “Am I following Jesus or my version of Jesus? “ Am I so attached to my idea of God that I can’t grow in my knowledge and love of Him because I refuse to ‘drop my favorite stick’ of my own theology and let Scripture speak anew to me?
I wrote in the first post of this series, If I’m honest, I see Him through the lens of my own life, my own small experience - culture, place and time. I read the Scripture expecting it to say what I have always been taught it says, though hundreds of denominations suggests more than one way of reading it by sincere people.” I haven’t necessarily concluded I was right or wrong about anything because I’m still at the point of asking am I willing to be challenged and taught, even if it means I was wrong? That takes humility, a grace for which I am asking.
It’s easy to say we want more of God. We want Him to be even bigger and to see Him do great things in our lives and those of whom we love. It’s not easy when it actually begins to happen. Transformation always feels threatening, like the fabric is going to tear rather than stretch. I wrote in my journal the other day: I hope there is Lycra in my relationship with Jesus . I’m going to need to stretch.
He is deeper, more loving, more powerful, and more mysterious than I can ever comprehend. But, rather than deterring me, that draws me to Him. Like Grizzly , I have to drop my sticks of attachment at the back door to come into His presence .
