I once heard this phrase and it was only after I stopped being one that I realized I had spent most of my life as one. You know couch potato, pew potato. Slide in the back, get the fill up, or do the motions, slide on back out and head right back to that Monday-Saturday grind.
The only value I think that I could find in being a pew potato is the ignorance of surface living and living without a reason to take a stand.
I pretty much stopped being a pew potato about 7 years ago, when God showed me how much I owed him. How much he deserves my participation, my worship, and my life’s testimony. Over these last few years since shedding that armor of ignorance and spiritual apathy- I have encountered and struggled through some real things that I know have come as a result of my choice to be vulnerable. It’s sometimes feels like the vulnerability is a red and white target circle on my back.
This past weekend we shared during the morning service about our marriage. It was such an awesome opportunity to speak together. I love preparing for times like that, especially if I get to do it with Scotty. It’s those times that I realize how much I love to be in love with him. This time was different, because part of what we felt led to share was more Scotty’s story than mine. More his vulnerability than mine. I can’t tell you how passionate that makes me, how fired up it makes me to see him share and give something of himself. It’s a real gift when he does that.
And I knew well enough from the past that the hours and days after sharing might mean doing a little extra battle based on our vulnerabilities.
This week was no different. So much got thrown our way that felt devastating. Devastating to our home, to my business, to our relationship, and to our kids. There was so much potential to see these darts and arrows headed towards our precious targets as devastating that we almost caved.
And there it is the pivot.
This time I remembered the hell week after sharing my testimony. The hell week after creating new boundaries. The hell week after deciding to homeschool. The hell WEEKS after turning in my resignation at church.
I remembered. We remembered. And we chose perspective. We chose to wait and make space. We chose each other.
This week I have had this extremely uncomfortable sense of dependency and in some ways despondency.
I don’t like it. It’s not natural for me. I am independent. I have a plan. I know the next step. Except this time, this week it seemed like the next step was like a lily pad floating just ever so out of my reach, a little hard to see through the pond fog, and I didn’t feel any pressure to leap to it.
It was almost like God was saying just stop a second will you. Don’t hurry to it. Don’t rush to that next step. I like you right here needing me, needing Scotty in a different way. You are safe here.
So tonight I am writing this in an uncomfortable place, but not an unsafe place. An unknown feeling, but not an out of control feeling.
I read Matthew 5:45 today not for the first time, but the first with a new perspective. This perspective of an unhurried, unfazed, unworried God. A sovereign Maker.
“that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.”
My realization came like this- The good don’t deserve the sun more than the evil in Gods eyes. He causes it to rise on us all, good or evil. Just like the rain isn’t saved for the unrighteous and a magic umbrella appears for those who consider themselves righteous.
All created by Him. All under His control. All within in His scope. All part of a plan.
I find much security in that while also recognizing I have grossly miscalculated what I think I deserve. 🥴
And worse and more painful to admit- what I think some don’t deserve.
Did I think because I was doing what He called me to do I might need a higher SPF? Like it’s sunnier where I am?
Did I expect that He’d pull out the umbrella for me because I am obedient to His call?
A perspective pivot that brings on repentance is the kind of rain you dance in. The kind of sun that burns a little, but gives you a healthy glow. Painful and embarrassing, yet contagious and motivating.
Here for all of it.