When You Don’t Know Why You Do That Thing You Do
18 For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh. For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out. 19 For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing. 20 Now if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me (Rom. 7:18–20).
24 What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death? 25 Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord! So then, with my mind I myself am serving the law of God, but with my flesh, the law of sin (Rom. 7:24–25).
It was a regular morning walk on a familiar path when a friend casually asked, “Why do you always do so much?” The question caught me off guard, and within seconds, I realized I didn’t have an answer. I had always assumed that “doing so much” in the form of crushing to-do lists and tucking accomplishments under my belt was to be celebrated. I had never stopped to consider if there was another force driving me.
Have you ever wondered why you do that thing you do? If you were to look closely and deeply, what patterns might you find? There are patterns in the way we respond to the fear, guilt and shame that presses on our hearts. There are patterns in the way we answer questions about our worth, ability and significance, and in the way we respond to worry, stress, conflict, boredom, and feeling overwhelmed. Repeatedly tracking over the same patterns packs down the soil of our hearts into hardened paths.
My own patterns flew under the radar of my consciousness for most of my life—patterns triggered by fear of failure and shame of feeling like I was never enough. I would strive to stick to the tasks and relationships that I was certain God called me to, but when I felt overwhelmed, I would hide in a distraction of choice. Have you ever done the same?
Striving can take many forms. We think the problem we haven’t been able to solve or the habit we haven’t been able to change remains simply because we haven’t tried hard enough yet. So, we listen to the voice of the accuser who attempts to boss us around. Keep busy. Keep everyone happy. Don’t miss out. Stay in control. Do better. Be in the know. Work harder. Be perfect. Try more. Most of all, don’t fail. So, we work. We do more. We control. We accomplish. We make lists and set goals. These are not inherently evil things, they’re simply insufficient answers to our questions of security, significance and security.
When we strive, we allow our work to determine our worth, rather than our God-given worth to drive our work. When we strive, we eventually come up short.
When we constantly strive, we paint God as a taskmaster endlessly demanding that we do it again, do it better, and do more.
When this unsustainable kind of striving leaves us exhausted, overwhelmed, and feeling like it’ll never be enough, we hide. Hiding also takes many forms. We can withdraw from relationships or circumstances by mindlessly scrolling through social media, entertain endless if onlys, binge on Netflix, start or buy something new, or procrastinate. We can hide behind the temporary satisfaction of food, drink, or other substances.
When we hide, we paint God as an accuser who wags His finger, constantly uttering, “Shame on you.”
Striving and hiding both promise peace, satisfaction and security, but neither can actually silence the fear that presses on our hearts. No matter how far we run or how well we hide, we cannot escape it. Eventually, both paths (striving and hiding), led to the same pit wallpapered with disappointment, anxiety, more fear, defeat, disconnectedness, loneliness, guilt, restlessness, shame, and discontentment.
What are we striving for and hiding from? The fear we are not enough—not secure, significant or sufficient enough. The striver attempts to prove that they are. The hider is convinced that they aren’t. Both forget that Jesus already is. Striving and hiding are both fuelled by lies.
God is not a taskmaster or an accuser, but holy, compassionate, patient, faithful, and loving. He is our all-sufficient heavenly Father who whispers quietly to our hearts an invitation made possible only by the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ: “Come to Me.”
The beautiful alternative to a life of striving and hiding is surrender. It’s the simple acknowledgement that we are fully known, and in Christ, we are fully loved. He offers Himself to us as a free gift in the great exchange—His righteousness for our filthy rags—all because of His love. The moment you choose to entrust your life to Jesus, by grace through faith, He gives you His.
The next time you feel fear trying to either step on the gas pedal of striving or slam on the brakes of hiding, remember this simple anthem of surrender: In Christ, I have nothing to prove and nothing to hide.
*Excerpt taken from The Flourishing Life— Discovering the transforming power of trusting God with your weaknesses, ways and wants. Available for preorder Friday, November 29, 2019. Study The Flourishing Life with your small group in January. Stay turned for more details!
