for the labor of God is to trust

One of my favorite things about the beginning of break is the liberty-luxury of extended time for people, without the nagging pressure of Things I Ought To Be Doing Instead. It was 2am one night this week when I realized I had spent quite literally the whole day speaking/listening/learning/dreaming/gushing/ranting/relating with people I care about. Some of those conversations were planned, some were by accident, and all were wonderful.

Definitely in the accidental category was the moment when my dear friend Lynnette (who writes here, among other places, and whose friendship is one of my favorite things that has happened in college) and I realized that we had both gotten ourselves into the same embarrassing, irresponsible predicament on the same day. Along with some wide eyes and grimaces, the situation sparked a deeply refreshing conversation about how somehow, despite being good at quite a lot of things, we are basically terrible at life. 

Honestly.

This is coming from people who are kind of used to being overachievers. Do-ers. People who take on a full-course-load-and-a-half, make good grades, win awards, participate in school organizations, study abroad, volunteer for non-profits, take on responsibilities at church, and keep substantial recreational reading lists.

But you know what?

At the end of the semester, we look back and admit that there are very few areas of our lives that have felt healthy and stable lately. That half those successes felt like fakes, and that we have failed at almost all the things that matter. That our tendencies toward over-commitment reflect hearts that haven’t quite learned that it was never about what we can do, but about trusting what has been done for us. That we tend to focus a lot more on doing and a lot less on being. Being real. Being humble, authentic, and vulnerable. Being joyful and at peace. Being there for others. Being redeemed and being sanctified and being loved.

That’s where this song comes in.IMG_9542 That night, after—but independently of—our conversation, my sister brought it to our attention. Lynnette and I realized how perfectly it summarized what we’d been dancing around in our conversation. I’d forgotten how lovely it is, and how piercingly true.

You strive, o man, and you strive again, your heart too proud to rest. You labor on, singing those songs, to cover your weakness. Do you fail to recall who you really are and Who caused you to be? Return o man; return and rest, to a burden light and yoke easy

Abide in your Savior. Abide in His love. The labor of God is to trust in the Son.

All you possess—do you forget, as if by your own strength You earned it? No. He gave you all, everything you have. Your righteousness, your life, your breath, your daily bread and wine, His blood, His flesh, His love, His death, Your faith and endless life.

Abide in your Savior. Abide in His love. The labor of God is to trust in the Son.

Open up your doors, O my heart and soul. Open up your doors; Let the King come in. Let the King come in.

Abide in me, Savior. Abide in me, Love. And daily I’ll take my cross, follow after you Lord. Abide in me, Savior. Abide in me, Love. The labor of God is to trust.

 — Jenny and Tyler Somers, “Abide”

  May we learn to spend less time doing (and faking), and more time being and trusting. May we abide in our Savior, and may his love abide in us. IMG_9530

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2 thoughts on “for the labor of God is to trust

  1. Reblogged this on Lynnette Therese and commented:
    Ever since the evening of conversation and music Krystiana writes about here, the lyrics and lessons from that night have been rolling around in my head. I’m glad she got to writing about it first, because she articulates our little story of messy brokenness and hope in a way that is so honest and beautiful. (My friends are the coolest.) Please, enjoy — and I hope you’re encouraged as well.

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