Monday, November 12, 2007
As If for the First Time
My wife and I had a magical time this past weekend. Her birthday was Sunday, and in the Yoars household, that translates to a weekend-long (if not weeklong) cause for celebration. Along with an unforgettable day spent at Disney World—alone—we had an unexpected treat on Saturday. While going through boxes of old books that afternoon (man, do we know how to party or what?!), Amber discovered a couple of journals she'd kept around the time we first met. We've read through them before, and unlike many couples, we actually keep our "story" somewhat fresh in our minds. It's a still-intact, blissful memory for both of us. And yet it had been awhile since we'd reminded each other of why we fell for each other so hard and so fast.
This time, though, our story seemed new all over again. I could recall certain smells, what we wore on different occasions during those first few weeks, how Amber looked in certain situations, how the butterflies in my stomach felt each time I waited for her to arrive at our meeting place ... every sense came back to life. And all because of a simple reminder of my first love.
Today, as the romantic nostalgia wears slightly from my mind with the busyness of a renewed workweek cycle, my heart is still soft from reliving such a precious time. It's also rejoicing in the understanding that the same underlying principles apply to intimacy with God. Because just as my love for my wife matures into newness, so can my love for my true first love. I don't say that to sound romantic, super-spiritual, hokey or anything else that comes with the roll of an eye. It's simply that I realize this: A newfound liberty awaits us when we understand our relationship with God can perpetually grow younger, fresher and more alive—all while it ages through the taxing years of ministry, service, works, doing.
Simple concept, right? And yet it's somewhat backward given the nature of everything else in life. Since the fall, we have been programmed to decline. We're born to wear down. But in typical God fashion, our Maker offers a kingdom principle of renewal. This is the same God who designed rebirth, who tells crusty old men that to be saved they must be born again. His is the upside-down kingdom where weathered souls must become like little children all over again. To be the greatest, we must become the least; to be first, we must be last. Is it not fitting, then, that to age in your love for Him, you often must return to the very root from which the vine first grew? His fruit is eternally young, fresh ... and maturing.
We all need a reminder of this, no matter what our title or calling. From time to time, we need to hear our stories all over again, as if for the first time. As pastors and ministry leaders, it's not just easy to get buried in the everyday tasks, it's the natural path of our flesh. We become consumed with others, with tasks, with service, with a God-given commission ... all to the point of forgetfulness. We may have taught dozens of sermons about what it means to return to your first love. We may have even referenced Revelation 2:4 countless times and counseled others who misplaced intimacy with God with service for Him. Yet it makes no difference what we've told others in the past; how are we today? Have we remembered our first love?
In the midst of self-analysis, remember this liberating thought: Maturity does not require that we stage the scene all over again. In other words, I don't believe God asks us to make sure we've kept intact that virginal reaction we had toward Him. Instead, I believe He seeks a love that is always expanding and growing yet never loses sight of that first interaction—because it can't. No matter how much my love for my wife expands and grows, if I continue to truthfully nourish that love, I will never bury the memory of why I first wanted to journey the rest of my life with her. (Obviously, that memory can be buried; but in true love, it won't be.)
So it is with our true first love. Maturity may add some beautiful wrinkles to that love, but its skin will forever tell the story of a miraculous connection between a flesh-man and his spirit-Maker. Our DNA cries out for His intimate renewal. In all your wonderful work for God, in every task to which you give 110 percent to in His name, please, as a minister commissioned by Him, don't forget this: He commissioned you first to love Him. Everything else is simply a derivative of that sweet spot.
This time, though, our story seemed new all over again. I could recall certain smells, what we wore on different occasions during those first few weeks, how Amber looked in certain situations, how the butterflies in my stomach felt each time I waited for her to arrive at our meeting place ... every sense came back to life. And all because of a simple reminder of my first love.
Today, as the romantic nostalgia wears slightly from my mind with the busyness of a renewed workweek cycle, my heart is still soft from reliving such a precious time. It's also rejoicing in the understanding that the same underlying principles apply to intimacy with God. Because just as my love for my wife matures into newness, so can my love for my true first love. I don't say that to sound romantic, super-spiritual, hokey or anything else that comes with the roll of an eye. It's simply that I realize this: A newfound liberty awaits us when we understand our relationship with God can perpetually grow younger, fresher and more alive—all while it ages through the taxing years of ministry, service, works, doing.
Simple concept, right? And yet it's somewhat backward given the nature of everything else in life. Since the fall, we have been programmed to decline. We're born to wear down. But in typical God fashion, our Maker offers a kingdom principle of renewal. This is the same God who designed rebirth, who tells crusty old men that to be saved they must be born again. His is the upside-down kingdom where weathered souls must become like little children all over again. To be the greatest, we must become the least; to be first, we must be last. Is it not fitting, then, that to age in your love for Him, you often must return to the very root from which the vine first grew? His fruit is eternally young, fresh ... and maturing.
We all need a reminder of this, no matter what our title or calling. From time to time, we need to hear our stories all over again, as if for the first time. As pastors and ministry leaders, it's not just easy to get buried in the everyday tasks, it's the natural path of our flesh. We become consumed with others, with tasks, with service, with a God-given commission ... all to the point of forgetfulness. We may have taught dozens of sermons about what it means to return to your first love. We may have even referenced Revelation 2:4 countless times and counseled others who misplaced intimacy with God with service for Him. Yet it makes no difference what we've told others in the past; how are we today? Have we remembered our first love?
In the midst of self-analysis, remember this liberating thought: Maturity does not require that we stage the scene all over again. In other words, I don't believe God asks us to make sure we've kept intact that virginal reaction we had toward Him. Instead, I believe He seeks a love that is always expanding and growing yet never loses sight of that first interaction—because it can't. No matter how much my love for my wife expands and grows, if I continue to truthfully nourish that love, I will never bury the memory of why I first wanted to journey the rest of my life with her. (Obviously, that memory can be buried; but in true love, it won't be.)
So it is with our true first love. Maturity may add some beautiful wrinkles to that love, but its skin will forever tell the story of a miraculous connection between a flesh-man and his spirit-Maker. Our DNA cries out for His intimate renewal. In all your wonderful work for God, in every task to which you give 110 percent to in His name, please, as a minister commissioned by Him, don't forget this: He commissioned you first to love Him. Everything else is simply a derivative of that sweet spot.
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Marcus,
I remember your and Amber's story. It is the stuff of dreams. As is mine.
Would love to re-establish contact.
Becky Panaccione
same e-mail as ever
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I remember your and Amber's story. It is the stuff of dreams. As is mine.
Would love to re-establish contact.
Becky Panaccione
same e-mail as ever
Links to this post:
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