Unexpected

I went to Rockbridge this weekend, a place close to my heart where I went to camp as a camper and for work crew during high school. One thing I noticed is that I had this strange desire to control the weekend. Work crew last year was beautiful and I wanted this year to be the same. I was so relieved to be a server like last year and I was basically trying to create this recreation when I realized that God was patiently waiting for me to give Him the weekend. That I could be there and pour my heart into serving but if I was still trying to make it about me, then I would never experience Christ in a fresh, breathtaking way. God had such bigger, more miraculous plans for the weekend than I could have possibly orchestrated. And I don't know if you feel like this, but I do this literally all all the time. I'm like "Jesus, here's my life, but hold on I have this really great plan so let me that for a minute." And I spend so much time trying to make it as good as possible and do the things I'm used to: going to church, worshipping in the same context, reading the bible in the same place, creating this safe little pattern and structure and building this compartment for Jesus in my life. And Jesus will not settle for some compartment I give Him. Literally, every day, every single day I have moments where I say to God, "wow, I never could have saw that coming. I never imagined you working like that. Loving me like that. Using me like that. And the more I'm made aware of my own desire for control and I let God in, He destroys my plans. Without fail. If I plan to do my homework, like tonight, I end out having a heart to heart with my suitemate about God and life and pain. When I planned to go to zumba, we spent two extra hours crammed sitting on the bus and arrived at school long after it had ended. I planned to spend free time at camp in the places where I found God last year-I encountered Him in the store, in a random piece of holiness book by Henry Nouwen and deep conversation with people I never would have expected and sought out. And in all of it He says so clearly in my heart:

 "Look, love, you asked for this. You're the one who said you were giving me your life. I will do with it immeasurably more than you can imagine or accomplish. I'm taking over. I'm going to come crashing in."

 And the call is to let Him. To follow this crazy guy everywhere we absolutely don't want to go. The call is to obedience. And obedience to me really just meant motions. But going to work crew is not obedience in itself. I can go to work crew and reject God entirely and follow my own path. And that path may look really good. It may even be loving kids and working really hard and reading the bible and praying. But it is always, always me sitting on Gods throne instead of putting myself on the cross. I can also go saying "Here, God. Its yours. Make me nothing." Knowing that I am unworthy to even love campers and that God raises me to the highest glory attainable: being his hands and feet. And its an ugly job. Because Jesus's hands are the ones that lovingly pick the half eaten crumbs off the ground, his feet are those that ache from not resting. He is the one that eats from their trash and leftovers. That asks for no thanks, no glory, only to pour that out on anyone else.