My two oldest girls are rowers. I don’t know why they do it. It hurts. A lot. They went up to Connecticut a few weeks ago to meet with a German trainer who made them do an hour and a half warm-up on the rowing machine before they raced a 6-K. Then while they were erg-ing, he took multiple blood samples from their earlobes so he could measure their lactic acid levels and determine an appropriate training program for the coming winter.

They did this voluntarily.

Last week, based on their blood samples, he sent them a ridiculous training schedule that they will follow religiously for the next few months in preparation for some erg competition in which starburst circles of rowing machines are set up all over a convention-sized space, separated only by multiple industrial sized garbage cans (use your imagination) as rowers from around the world come to erg their hearts out in hopes of a competitive score.

When the girls got their training schedules, there was an animated discussion over dinner…a lot of compare-and-contrast and a healthy dose of trepidation. I am convinced they both take secret pleasure in knowing that if they actually do these arduous workouts over the next three months they will emerge uber-fit and ultra-fast.

Relationship with God isn’t something I have to earn. There is no training schedule, no rote way of getting closer to God. Relationship with God NEVER demands I “get better,” it only asks me to spend time with Him so He can do the work of transformation. But that’s hard for someone like me who likes control. Relationship with God demands I give that up.

In fact relationship with God asks me to let go of just about everything…my way; my picture of how things should turn out; all “shoulds”; the concept that I have sufficient foresight to know which events in my life and the lives of those around me are “good” and which are “bad;” the notion that I know what’s best for anyone, including myself.

God asks me to turn life back into that grand adventure – – back into the way I experienced life as a child – – taking everything as it comes with no expectations of how it should end up, only a genuine and open curiosity about what is going on right now. He wants me to engage in my life, not tip toe around it, endlessly examining what it is, if it can hurt me, how it might turn out, and only jump in once I have my strategy, execution and escape plan thoroughly thought through.

He wants me to take a running start, bare feet flapping and hurl myself into the deep end because He is there waiting for me, in the middle of my messy life, arms open wide. He tells me again and again, “Do not be afraid,” and in that same Divine breath, He is also asking me to trust Him. NOT easy. But so simple.   So I want to spend time with God, every day….because I want to be that kid careening toward the pool, hair slicked back and dripping, chin lifted up towards the sun, arms flailing and feet running in the air until I cannonball right in the center of my own life – – the one GOD has prepared for me. I want to be that kind of uber-fit and ultra-fast…spiritually. And if all it takes is time with God, I am all in.

Thanksgiving 2014….

Last night, over leftover pie and laughter, most of our extended family reconnected in front of a roaring fire at my brother-in-law’s home in rural Virginia. One of my favorite moments of the evening was a short story my nephew Jon shared about college life. He told us how all the individual dorm rooms on his floor had recently been outfitted with new fire doors. Although infinitely safer, the fact that each door closed automatically had a profound effect on the sense of community in the dorm. People could no longer see who was in and who wasn’t, so students generally walked straight to their rooms, rather than dropping by and visiting with one another. With every door shut, banter no longer ricocheted up and down the corridor, and things previously shared with the entire floor now became the property of individual rooms. Soon after the installation, my nephew went home for a weekend and spent some time in the workshop where he cut a 2 x 6 plank into about 20, pie-sliced wedges. When he returned to campus, he handed each young man on his floor a new, homemade door-stop. And just that simply, community was restored.

My nephew has always been a quiet guy, but hearing this story, it was as if the very heart of him was illuminated. I love that Jon didn’t launch a campaign to have the doors changed, complain to his friends, or ruminate about the fact that community had broken down. I also love the fact that he was observant enough to see that the closed doors changed the dynamic of his floor, and that he chose to address that issue in his own special way.

Jon’s simple response lacked several of the steps that usually punctuate the way I address so many of the challenges in my own life… steps that keep me mired in a cycle of observing the problem and reacting to it, rather than moving toward solution. In fact, focusing on what is wrong can become a permanent stop in and of itself – – an oddly comfortable place in which to linger and even roll around – – a resting place that allows total inaction to pose as any number of “justifiable” imposters – – blame, self-pity, fear, resentment or righteous indignation, none of which will ever make anything better. Fixating on the problem is like being stuck in quicksand. You fight and fight, but you make no progress, in fact you lose ground.

I love what my nephew did because he reminded me of where God wants us to look…At what works, not what’s broken. It is that simple. God is never in the closed door; He is in the community beyond it. God is never in my problems and I will never find Him if I keep examining what’s wrong. I need to look up, stop complaining, stop blaming, or feeling sorry for myself, stop believing that internal dialogue and have the courage to seek out a solution, one small step at a time.

The simplest tool known to man is the wedge. God never makes “the next right thing” hard to recognize and once I move toward Him, doors open.