By Dean Lusk
I imagine myself standing outside my daughter's room, aware that it resembles a tornado-swept laundromat/toy store more than it does a 12-year-old's bedroom, knocking on the locked door and saying in as mild-mannered a voice as possible, "Alaina, open your door so I can come in and clean you room for you." Note that I'm saying I'll do it for her, not with her.
And I imagine her slightly-muted response, "But it's too messy. I CAN'T clean it." Believe it or not, I have heard this kind of statement from her. If you have a typical kid, you've probably heard something like it, too.
Now, this scenario is not too typical in our house, but I want you to see the disconnection in the illustration. I offer to clean the room for her and her response is that she can't clean the room, and she keeps her door locked. Obviously we're not communicating on the same channel here.
And this is exactly what I can see that I've done lately in response to Jesus saying, "Dean, I know you feel like a total wreck right now, and I'm going to fix that; I'm going to clean you up, dust you off, and lift your eyes to me. Unlock this door, please." I respond by saying from the other side of the door, "But I CAN'T clean myself up, dust myself off, and turn my eyes to You."
I can picture Jesus patiently giving a half-smile as He continues to knock on the door, rolling His eyes slightly as we go through it all again, and saying, "Listen, Dean, I really don't think you're GETTING this..."
I've determined that I'm not effective at all in helping Jesus with my life. I have found out, however, that I'm dangerously proficient in preventing Him from doing so.