“We are not yet what we shall be but we are growing toward it. The process is not yet finished, but it is going on. This is not the end, but it is the road.” A Defense and Explanation of All Articles, Martin Luther

Spring officially arrives this week. But here in northern Massachusetts, you would never know. There is little–if any–evidence that winter will ever depart. Snow still blankets the ground, heavy coats continue to drape our shoulders as we head out the door in the morning, and each evening, we still congregate in the one room that holds the heat.

Discouragement and disappointment have raged during this interminable winter. Four close friends or family members were diagnosed with cancer. Several marriages have fallen apart. Friends who have been sober for decades are inextricably and suddenly using again. A brilliant friend with advanced degrees is delivering newspapers to keep food on the table. Church leaders have resigned amidst accusations of scandal. And all the while, the world taunts those of us who follow Jesus with the question, “Where is your God?” In other words, Can you produce any evidence that this God you follow is real?

Yes, in fact. Though it might be as difficult to detect as the coming spring, my life bears witness to the existence of God. At age twenty-five, I was a talented, professional photographer with the emotional EKG of a cadaver. While I thought nothing of cycling down the west coast alone or sleeping under highway overpasses (on assignment, of course), the idea of being vulnerable and acknowledging my needs and wounds to others terrified me. Though I had been following Jesus for six years, my faith had little impact upon my relational brokenness.

Fast forward a decade. Just two years into our marriage, a close friend asked my husband and me if we would consider running a Christian healing and discipleship program. In an effort to understand what we might be agreeing to, I began reading his book. A single sentence in chapter two dismantled me; “Is the appearance of health worth more than health itself?” I felt something shift deep within which reminded me of the sound of ice cracking beneath the surface of a frozen pond. Life as I knew it was about to change.

Up until that point, I opted for the appearance of health. I began to understand that if I wanted to be like Jesus, I had to forsake others’ opinions of me and stop faking it. Learning to confess my sins and invite others into my struggles–step one–felt simultaneously humiliating and liberating. It dismantled my shame and created an opening for God to break in. I then had to learn how to obey the Lord’s radical directives.

Obedience has fallen out of favor in our post-modern culture. Society views it as overly moralistic and confining. I see it from a different vantage point. From the time I was six until I graduated from college, I played competitive sports. All year long. Every season. This meant running, weight lifting, cycling, and shooting thousands of free throws. Practice, or obedience, prepared me for competition. Though I no longer engage in organized sports, the lessons I learned about spiritual discipline now serve me as I endeavor to follow Christ.

Paul writes, “You were taught, regarding your former way of life, to put off your old self which is being corrupted by its deceitful desires; to be made new in the attitude of your mind; and to put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness.” (Ephesians 4:22-24 NLT)

Just as having a near perfect free throw doesn’t happen by osmosis, neither does being made new. Sloughing off our dragon skin (see Eustace in Voyage of the Dawn Treader) happens in partnership with God, through repeated and often seemingly insignificant acts of obedience. And in case it isn’t obvious, imitating Christ is seldom easy.

Nearly every day, multiple times a day, we are faced with choices. Will I over indulge in the face of my growing anxiety or reveal my temptations to a friend and resist? Will I lash out at my children after being verbally shredded by the rock star I was photographing or stop at the local parish, confess my murderous thoughts, and receive prayer? Though we don’t always realize it, a gap exists between our anxiety/fear/anger/longing/grief and our response to it. Discipline grows in that space. As we repeatedly choose the way of the cross, our desire to sin diminishes and Christ strengthens us to obey.

Hope undergirds this obedience. Hope that Christ’s resurrection power is truly available to us. Hope that growth is more than a concept. The hope of things not yet seen or realized. Kind of like spring.

Back to that earlier question. I am certainly not the woman I long to be. Not yet. I am still impatient. I obsessively think instead of going to prayer. I hoard my time. But when I become still, I hear the drip–drip–drip of my ice thawing.

I am softer, kinder, less certain. I give others access to my thoughts and my heart. I cry–in public. And when I recently drove down the Pacific Coast Highway, my hands gripped the wheel and I was utterly unable to look off the shoulder for even a moment. I realized that what enabled me to cycle that route so many years ago–the fact that I was totally shut down emotionally–was no longer true. Change has come not simply because I’m disciplined, but because I have a holy, powerful Father whose love motivates and empowers me to be more like Jesus.

Just as many in the world today fail to see any evidence of God, as I look out the window, I see no physical evidence that winter will ever depart. No green tips have pierced through the hardened soil despite the fact that five months ago, I dug multiple holes and dropped shriveled, ugly bulbs into the damp earth. I remember the first time one of my sons watched me do this, he asked incredulously, “What are you doing?” In his mind, what good could come of this seemingly futile exercise?

Many times during this exceedingly long winter, I have asked myself, “God, what am I doing? Is all of my digging and planting and praying and obeying for naught?” In this not yet place, will I despair or will I lean into Him in holy expectancy? While the evidence might be weighted against faith in such times, I do recall that last year, and in all years prior, spring faithfully arrived. Because I have already witnessed God’s miraculous transformation in drawing my shriveled bulb of a heart into bloom, because I have already seen the beauty that comes from the frozen rocky soil, I choose hope. And in that gap, I wait expectantly, believing that God will do what He has promised.   

To listen to the song that inspired this post: Michael Been and The Call, I Still Believe

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