To listen to the audio version, click here.
I have kept my feet from every
evil path so that I might obey your word. I have not departed from your laws,
for you yourself have taught me.
—Psalm 119:101-102
My first
summer job as a teenager was as a gymnastics coach at the YMCA. I was in charge
of the Beginners class, which ranged from four-year-olds in pint-sized leotards
to junior high girls who had watched the Summer Olympics and been inspired by
the likes of Shannon Miller and Dominique Dawes.
Invariably
the girls were enamored with the tumbling mats and the uneven bars. They loved
somersaulting and cartwheeling to their hearts’ content, and they delighted in
swinging on the bars. But there was a consistent nemesis for those budding
gymnasts: the balance beam.
I couldn’t
blame them. Here they were supposed to walk on a four-inch slab of wood four
feet off the ground, and most of their heads didn’t even reach the top of the
beam! But the fact remained: if they were going to pass the class and advance
to the next level, they’d have to make it from one end of the beam to the
other. All by themselves.
I’ll never
forget the five-year-old twins in my class: tow-headed girls named Zoe and
Chloe. Chloe had successfully completed each requisite for the class and had
her certificate proudly in hand, marking her promotion to Advanced Beginners.
But her blue eyes got big when a realization struck: her sister hadn’t walked
the beam yet.
My method
for teaching this particular skill went like this: first, I’d have the girls
walk on a line on the floor to show them that four inches was wider than they
thought. Then when each girl got up on the beam, I’d walk on the ground beside
her, holding her hand each step of the way. When I was confident she was ready,
I’d send her on her first solo attempt.
Zoe had the
skills to conquer the balance beam, and she knew exactly what she needed to do.
But she was facing an obstacle more daunting than the four-foot apparatus in
front of her: a mental one. As soon as I’d let go of her hand, she’d look at
the ground below, and all she could think about was how far she had to fall.
But here’s the thing about walking four feet above the ground: if you want to
make it to your destination, you have to keep your eyes up. Otherwise you’ll
lose balance, perspective. And that’s when you’re destined to fall.
That principle
holds true when it comes to spiritual understanding too. So often we keep our
eyes focused on the problem itself, when the way to real advancement and
understanding comes when we take our eyes off the difficult situation and focus
on God, who is big enough to conquer any obstacle we may face.
If we want
to conquer an addiction, the key isn’t to think even harder about that thing
we’re not supposed to have. If we hope to overcome a temptation that keeps
causing us to stumble, it won’t help much to keep telling ourselves, Stay away from [fill in the blank]. No,
the way to understanding and victory is to keep our eyes on Jesus.
On the last
day of the gymnastics class, I looked at Zoe. “Okay, kiddo,” I said. “Today is
your day.”
She got onto
the beam, her little knees knocking. Then, instead of standing beside her, I
went to the far end of the balance beam. “Keep your head up,” I told her. “Just
look at me.” Step by step, she inched forward, her eyes never leaving mine,
until she reached her destination.
This life
may be precarious, but we have a teacher who shows us exactly where to place
our feet. When we keep our eyes focused on him, he won’t let us fall.
In what areas of your life are you focusing on your problems instead of
on Jesus? Name every problem out loud, telling God you believe he’s bigger than
each challenge you face.
—Stephanie Rische
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment