Putting "Except" on the Shelf

Let me tell you about my spectacular basketball skills. 

My vast experience with the sport began and ended in middle school where I first played on an intramural team in our P.E. class. Later, I did attempt to join the middle school girls' team, but was one of two people cut after tryouts. I never got the courage to try again after that.

These days, I do play H-O-R-S-E with my kids occasionally, where predictably and in line with my skill level hinted at above, they almost always win.

One day in that intramural stage, parents were invited to come to the school gym and watch their kids in a game. Their presence, dotting the bleachers in the gym, gave an authentic feel to the game (to make up for having to wear the red smocks over our P.E. t-shirts). I got especially excited when I saw my mom slip in the side door -- late, because she'd had to come from work -- and take a seat on the top bleacher to watch me play.

The problem was, I was warming the bench.

As soon as my mom entered the gym, I wanted to prove my basketball mettle, show her what I could do. I glanced at the clock, where time ticked down to the bench changeover (P.E. intramural basketball didn't follow normal "subbing" protocol; I was guaranteed playtime, whatever my athletic prowess). 

Finally, the time ticked down to the changeover, and I took my place on the court. Upcourt, downcourt I ran, back and forth, doing my absolute best to contribute to the team, my willingness to play perhaps a little overly exuberant for the occasion, but I wanted so badly to show my mom how well I could play.

I started to doubt that I would ever touch the ball (my teammates had a fairly decent idea of what exactly would happen if I did). But suddenly, miraculously, I found the ball in my hands.

I admit, I almost forgot what to do, I was so excited. I nearly ran with the ball, forgetting to dribble, but remembered at the last possible second to bounce the thing so they wouldn't call traveling on me. There was the basket, it was near enough for me to shoot, no one was close enough to stop the shot, and I took my opportunity.

Rim bounce, rim bounce, and through the net! I had made it! I looked at my mom, my mouth open in shock and joy. She was clapping and smiling, but there was a sympathetic twist to her smile. I looked at my teammates, who stared at the court floor. I looked at the scoreboard, and saw two points go up for the other team.

I'd shot at the wrong basket. Worse, that was the one goal I have ever made in playtime. 

I was living the epitome of the verse: "The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak" from Matthew 26:41. I was so very willing to take my shot... I was so very faulty in my carrying out of the plan.

Exodus 35 begins a recap of several of the last chapters I've already gone through as the Tabernacle begins to come together. In earlier chapters, I've read about the instructions for setting up the Tabernacle, now it's actually happening.

As I read through this chapter, several times this phrase jumped out at me: "Everyone who is willing..." So Moses tells the people: "Everyone who is willing is to bring to the Lord an offering of gold, silver, and bronze" (Exodus 35:5). "Then the whole Israelite community withdrew from Moses' presence, and everyone who was willing and whose heart moved him came and brought an offering to the Lord for the work on the Tent of meeting..." (Exodus 35:20-21). "All who were willing, men and women alike, came and brought gold jewelry of all kinds..." (Exodus 35:22). "And all the women who were willing and had the skill spun the goat hair" (Exodus 35:26). "All the Israelite men and women who were willing brought to the Lord freewill offerings..." (Exodus 35:29). 

And on and on.

It seems to me that a great deal of time was spent in this chapter on making it clear that the Lord wants gifts out of the overflow of the heart, not forced wealth, goods, or services. Paul addresses this attitude in his letter to the Corinthians: "Each of you should give what you have decided in your heart to give, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver. And God is able to bless you abundantly, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work" (2 Corinthians 9:7-8).

You could make the argument that despite my exuberant willingness to bless my basketball team with my athletic prowess -- I did not abound in every good work (i.e. score two points for my team, though I'm sure the other team appreciated my efforts). :) 

You know what did happen, though? After the game was over, my mom took me home, and that evening, our family went out for ice-cream (a rare treat in those days), because I had scored a goal -- a first-ever experience for me. 

And my family wanted to celebrate me.

The circumstances weren't important in that moment. My willingness was. So they capitalized on the good part of that experience and made it better, and shed the rest.

Years ago, I heard a friend sing a song in a church service, and one phrase of the chorus still stays with me today. I looked the song up this morning, and I think it fits right in:

The first verse goes like this: 

"Oh Lord, I am Your willing servant;
You know that I have been for years.
I'm here in this pew every Sunday and Wednesday;
I've stained it with many a tear.
I've given you years of my service;
I've always given my best,
And I've never asked You for anything much,
So Lord, I deserve this request..."

The tempo picks up, and the singer dives into the chorus with:

"Please don't send me to Africa.
I don't think I've got what it takes."

The song goes on for another verse, but that song has stood out to me over the years as a picture of my attitude. Lord, I'll do anything for you except. Lord, my life is Yours, all but that. Lord, here I am, send me... only don't send me there.

Philippians 2:5 says: "Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus..." And what was Jesus' attitude?

Jesus stumbles to His knees in the Garden of Gethsemane, fighting the battle of aligning His will with His Father's (the same battle we face daily, just in different and less difficult circumstances -- though sometimes they may not feel less difficult). "My Father," He prays, "if it is possible, may this cup be taken from Me. Yet not as I will, but as You will" (Matthew 26:39).

Then He heads back to His disciples and reminds them: "The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak."

Where I so often fail and Jesus succeeds, is -- He puts his except on the shelf. He gives the Father His all but that. He cries out, "Don't send me there... yet not as I will, but as You will." 

When Jesus melds His will with His Father's will, the most powerful thing to ever happen... happens. In this case, eternal redemption of mankind throughout history and the entire future story. His submission of His will to His Father's will literally saves the world.

How much the Father will do through us if we submit our will to Him! How powerfully He will work once we put our excepts on the shelf.

I admit, I stare at my paltry gifts and think: God could never use this. I can sing, but I'm not the best singer. I can play musical instruments, but I'm inexpert. I can write, but I am too often wordy or unclear. I can teach, but I too often skip over important milestones. I can be a wise and understanding wife and mother, but I too often lose my temper or snap.

I can play basketball, in that I can bounce the ball and even -- as illustrated above -- score a goal, no matter what team I play for.

If we let God have our gifts, He will redeem our gifts. He'll work through them! But if we don't willingly offer them in the first place, He has no chance to use them for His glory or His work. 

So let's pry our death-grip off those gifts, rusty and imperfect though they are, and let Him make something beautiful out of them.

Ice-cream out with my family is a beautiful thing, and that memory is a small part of what makes me who I am, whatever the flaws were in the making of it.