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Mar 23, 2024 06:00am

Recovery

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I am the other son. I am the one who ran off and squandered all he had on foolish living. In all my years of reading the story, I have never been the wayward son. I have always positioned myself as the good son who did right. The illusion served me well, or so I thought. Isn’t that the way of it? Living under the illusion, thinking you have done right because you thought it well, only to discover nothing ever changed. It is easy to be a godly Christian on Sunday morning, sitting pretty in church. The kids are down the hall in the nursery being cared for, and you have a moment of quiet, probably with a cup of coffee in hand. Worship fills the sanctuary. Quiet pauses to pray minister peace. Words from the pulpit spoken over the room strengthen the resolve.

Nodding in agreement, you believe it. Yes, this is what life is all about. These truths will hold me close to Christ. The story is told and you see it clearly—God is faithful. The remembering is good. I can do this. My God will not fail me. With strengthened faith, you walk out into the noonday sun, hungry but filled. You are the good son who stayed close to the Father, all is well. And then Tuesday hits and Sunday worship is nowhere in view. There is no remembering, only disordered chaos. Only lack. Where is my faith on a Tuesday in May when darkness shrouds my world? Did I leave it behind on the pew? How do I flesh out what I believe when I’m on the battlefield and the fallen lie all around me?

These are the questions that matter. In order to live a holy life, we must understand how to carry the truth we believe into the fabric of our regular days. This is not a one-and-done operation. The picking up of our faith and carrying it into every moment repeats and repeats and repeats. It is tempting to believe ourselves a failure when our faith has become undone, again, and the need to recalibrate is once again the pressing need of the hour. This is not failure. This is what living a holy life in a fallen world looks like. Fallen emotions are the great common denominator among believers and unbelievers. The great leveler. We all share this burden. No one is exempt.

I am not an athlete. Sure, I enjoy Netflix and long walks to the fridge as much as the next person, but that’s the extent of my athletic nature. I do, however, have friends who have stickers on their car that say things like, “13.1.” The only half marathon I’ve completed is binging a series from start to finish in one sitting. All Creatures Great and Small, I’m looking at you. I don’t need recovery, per se, in my line of marathon work, but for my skinny 13.1 friends, recovery is not optional, it is vital.

Recovery is not optional. It is vital to continuing the race. In the Christian life, we call indicators of how we are doing, “fruit.” Just as a tree bears fruit, so our lives bear fruit. Fruit reveals what we are made of. It is common for people these days to identify themselves as something they are not. In surprising ways, far more of us share this predicament than we realize.

As I look around and inventory the fruit of my life, there is no denying it. I have become the foolish son. I have squandered my resources on self-indulgent living. It’s hard to say how long I have been carelessly depleting my resources, but one look at my exhausted supplies tells me all I need to know. It has been a while.

My heart is grieved because I have tasted and seen the goodness of God. I have known abundant living. And when you have tasted and seen the goodness of God, you know.

You know how good it is.

You understand the deep satisfaction that comes from His hand. It is rich. Nothing matches the nourishment found in Him.

When you have known something good, and lost it, you remember. The memory may be faint, but it’s still there.

Daily choices fuel the loss. You still show up at church on Sunday. The kids attend youth group every week. Your husband still helps Pastor the church. And once a week you load up the family and go to community group to share life with other believers.

What nobody knows, and what you barely realize, is the impoverished state of your affairs. The believer has become a consumer of culture. The result has left the believer depleted. I join the Psalmist in Psalm 42 and remember how I used to accompany the throng of believers in worship.

Although I have forgotten, I know there’s a way to salvage all I have become, though it seems out of reach at the moment. Old habits die hard, and I have developed a taste for lesser things. I am starting to see how they fall short, but I feel helpless to change. My desire is to get back to holy living. Wholly living. Holy and wholeness share the same root word. I want to be whole again.

The time has come to reclaim all that has been stolen from me through foolish living. Today is the day to return to Him. Restoration is a prayer away and well within reach. He is watching, waiting, and ready to receive all who come to Him.