A few weeks ago, I was out with my fellow staff members and some friends for a fun day of rock climbing. Going into the day, I was excited, not only to be in a great community of people but also to test myself and see if my rock-climbing skills were improving.  While I love rock climbing, I am by no means very good at it, but for the past few months I had been working to build up my arm, shoulder, and grip strength so that hopefully I could make it up some of the more difficult climbs.

When we got there and began setting up the climbs, I noticed my excitement quickly transforming into jittery nerves.  Even though I enjoy rock climbing and have climbed many times, I sometimes find it hard to step up to the rock and fully commit to the challenge: to be both courageous and humble, to commit to getting better by finding the climb that I can’t quite do and then fight to complete it.  This process can be extremely humbling because I might take about 45 minutes to complete a climb that the next person will scale in a mere 45 seconds!

Having successfully climbed a few of the easier climbs, my confidence had grown, and I decided to make my way over to the more difficult climbs to see how my friends were doing on them. Several people were working together to figure out how to do the hardest climb as another climber struggled on a nearby climb.  I began encouraging these climbers until Lauren approached me and asked me to belay her.  I gave this new climber my full attention as I tied her in and got set to belay.

I had watched her during the day and judged her to be at my level of climbing skill or maybe a little better. I considered how high other people had made it on this climb and how far I might be able to make it.  As she climbed, I encouraged and coached to help her succeed, but when she was about halfway up, I realized that inwardly I wasn’t sure that I truly wanted her to reach the top.  What if I couldn’t make it as far as she did?  The others might not  congratulate my attempt, and they would certainly know I had failed.  Her success could make me look  really bad.
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But was this true?

In 1 Samuel, we read of a person who struggled with the same dilemma I was facing.  A young man named Saul who happened to be chosen as the first king of all Israel.  He starts his reign filled with the Holy Spirit and obediently following the Lord closely.  However, Saul’s pride soon begins to get in the way, and Saul, failing to subdue it, lets it go unchecked.  He trusts his own ideas and bows to the people’s wishes rather than standing firm to uphold God’s commandments.  His flagrant disobedience leads to the Lord’s rejecting Saul as king.  1 Samuel 16:14 tells us that the Spirit of the Lord departed from Saul. 

He had stopped looking to the Lord and had become focused on himself.  He had let pride begin to taint his heart, and from this pride many other things began to grow--fear, jealousy, and envy. We know the Lord would have freed him from these feelings if Saul had immediately asked for rescue, but he didn’t.  He chose to let them grow within him.  He chose to depend on his own strength rather than seeking the Lord.
A few chapters later, David makes his entrance and begins winning battles along with the hearts of the people.  Saul is blind to David’s service and loyalty.  His heart is so deeply imprisoned by pride, fear, jealousy and envy that he becomes obsessed with killing David, his perceived rival. This madness continues for the rest of Saul’s life.
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Saul had been a mighty warrior but is not satisfied with his success.  No, David’s victories threaten his reputation; they seem to make him less of a hero.  Saul entirely discounts the blessings that God has given him and refuses to accept that God has also blessed David. This is how envy works. It makes us believe that when good things happen to other people, they are taking that good from us rather than receiving a gift from God.

Saul’s life choices and David’s responses truly fascinate me.  I read about two people who are reasonably similar; both Saul and David make some big mistakes, and both of them have some major consequences for those mistakes. But, unlike Saul, David looks outwardly and cries out to the Lord in anguish, and as he cries out, he worships and praises God.

​David is described as a man after God’s own heart because he didn’t allow envy to infiltrate his heart.  He expressed thankfulness and humility--opposites of envy.  He chose the way of the righteous, which leads to eternal life in Christ.  

Standing at the base of the rock and watching Lauren succeed, I faced my jealous and envious thoughts and asked myself a simple question, “Is someone else’s success truly going to make my success less?” The answer was “no,” so I acknowledged the thought was there, then I sent it on its merry way.

I don’t want the pride and envy that are natural to the flesh define who I am and interfere with the purpose that God has called me to.  Do you? We can’t always control the thoughts that come into our minds, but we can control what we do with them.  When dark thoughts surface, we can let them grow and fester in our spirits or dismiss them to shrivel up and die.
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It is November, and just around the corner is Thanksgiving, a time when we are supposed to be thankful. Yet if we are not careful, the holiday season can be an especially easy time to allow pride and envy to slip in.  I ask you, Will you take your thoughts captive or will you let them take root and blossom?

Standing in a sea of humanity with flashing stage lights illuminating the night, I settled into the music, letting the heavy soundwaves flow over and through me.  This was not on my usual foray off the beaten path, not my comfort zone, and definitely not a place I would normally have chosen to be.  I was in Chicago at a rock concert!  While the band is a favorite of mine, the pyrotechnics and special affects unrivaled in cinematography and the instrumental and vocal overtures stunning, none of those elements were enough to draw me to this location, this event.
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Taking a moment to retreat internally from the bedlam of the show and observe, I looked over the largest crowd I’d ever been part of as tens of thousands of heads bobbed to the beat.  I noticed how nearly everyone was wearing band merchandise and sported face paint or symbolic markings on their clothes to represent their allegiance to the celebrities on stage.  Everyone was singing boisterously so that I couldn’t hear the lead singer—singing in a way that seemed to emanate worship of a sort to the man behind the mic.  But I was different from them.  I wasn’t here first and foremost for the band.  Sure, I was a fan, and certainly, I wanted to be in the presence of greatness, but the reason I was there in that throng was because of the beautiful young brunette standing to my left.  

I couldn’t help but gaze at this pretty woman next to me and grin as I watched her sway to the music and sing out the choruses to the popular songs.  She wasn’t clad in band garb, but she seemed to be a true fan.  I liked that she was an aficionado like me, sensible and demonstrative but not a worshipper.  I knew most of the lyrics as did she, and as we sang she gave me a kind smile.  Somewhere amid the melodies, I messed up one of the words a little too loudly.  She heard the mistake and giggled under the din of the crowd.  It was dark enough in the concert hall so she couldn’t see my face redden with embarrassment, but there was no mistaking her tone when she chided me, “Maybe you should sing a little quieter next time, Dad!” 

Reflecting on that recent concert experience, I came to the realization that there was only one reason I would drive the 18-hour round trip, pay for an absurdly expensive ticket, endure two hours of sitting in post-concert traffic, and get less than a collective four hours of sleep during the whole ordeal.  I did it because I was chosen.  

​Rewind a few weeks prior to the concert and listen in on a phone call.  My second daughter, Clare, who recently left our nest and moved out of state called.  “Dad!” she said with breathless excitement.  “Our favorite band is on tour, and of everybody I could go with, you’re my first choice.  So, you wanna do this?” 

At that moment, I didn’t care how expensive it was, how far it was, how loud it would be, or how long it would take.  When someone you deeply love picks you out of the crowd and says, “I choose you,” it is not just powerfully motivating, it’s life altering.  

Picture the scene on the Sea of Galilee in Matthew 4:18-22 when Jesus first calls some fishermen.  At His request they drop their nets, abandon everything including their father, and follow Him.  It’s initially surprising…until you consider the power of being chosen first.  Sometimes in our immaturity the response to being favored becomes narcissistic, but it doesn’t have to be this way.  There’s something holy in being chosen.  I believe we were made to want to be worthy, to be favored, to be invited as a first-round draft pick.  
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Fishermen left nets.  A tax collector left a lucrative career.  A zealot fighter left a cause.  There was something so powerful in being chosen that they couldn’t help but follow with curiosity and abandon.  To this up-and-coming rabbi, Jesus, these men mattered. They had been hand-picked, and they not only remained with Jesus through His three years of ministry, most of them stayed faithful to the very end.  The call from One who favored them was powerful enough to change their lives forever.  

What about you?  Do you see yourself as favored by God?  You are.  How can you be a favorite if everybody’s His favorite?  I don’t understand it myself, but I believe that God has the capacity to show His genuine love and affection to us in a way that makes us feel like a top pick.  I think this is a healthy sense to have as a follower of Jesus because it does a few important things:  it opens up an intimacy with God that lifts our gaze to His (Ps 3:3), emboldens our conversations with the Almighty within His very courts (Heb 4:16), and gives us permission to sit with Him and enjoy one another’s company, even if we’re not producing anything in particular (Ps 23:2&3). 

1 John 4:19 says, “We love because He first loved us.”  This verse makes it clear that God did the initial choosing, and it also implies that we can love Him back.  Clarifying favor of his disciples in John 15:16, Jesus says, “You did not choose Me but I chose you, and appointed you that you would go and bear fruit, and that your fruit would remain, so that whatever you ask of the Father in My name He may give to you.”  Take it from this earthly dad…when a child calls out to a father there’s no bounds to the love poured out.  Former missionary to South America and martyr for the gospel, Jim Elliot said it well, “God always gives His best to those who leave the choice with Him.”  Take heart!  Because of the choice Jesus made to give His life for ours, God the Father’s words for you today are, “I choose you.”  

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​The adolescent horde roared with laughter like an ancient Roman mob filling the colosseum and cheering barbarically at the sight of another gladiator haplessly cast down by its adversary.  They taunted louder than even the roiling river, cheered with gleeful delight when any brave soul dared to brace the enemy and be sent packing.  The sunny, temperate day would have been pleasant if not for the task at hand and the menacing mob casting judgement on a warrior’s even slightest error.  The brave but fallen emerged from under foaming waters, having been harassed enough by the pounding waves, only to endure cruel jeers and unsympathetic hecklings from those who stood but a mere stone’s throw away.  It wouldn't have been so bad except that I was up next to run the menacing rapid.  

Most passersby only noticed a group of about 30 eighth graders standing on the wooden platform overlooking the final rapid on the otherwise tame Nantahala River in North Carolina.  All day they had been learning to canoe and getting pretty good at it.  Now they faced the finale, where they watched all their friends navigate the rapid with their newfound skill.  Some made it down unscathed to admiring applause while others succumbed to the instability of the churning, bucking waters which tipped them for a wet exit and the good-natured taunts of their peers.  But for me, the pressure mounted.
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I was with the Discovery Ministries staff, and we were brushing up on our whitewater canoeing skills.  For some reason, this crowd of pubescent critics, coupled with the natural jitters of running a big rapid, just started to get under my skin.  I sat in an eddy with heart pounding and boat bobbing, and I wondered, “Why am I afraid?” 

I knew some obvious answers.  I was about to navigate a tricky watercourse, and I might tip over, getting cold and wet.  What if I damaged my boat?  What if in tipping over, I hit my head on a rock and was injured?  What if I tipped over, hit my head on a rock, and then drowned?  These were all remote possibilities, and such thoughts do make the heart beat faster and pump more adrenaline through the body, but in the end, I had taken the necessary precautions and was content with my odds. 
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But there was something seething deeper that I didn’t want to admit and was actually sort of ashamed of:  I, a grown man, was afraid of those junior-hi rascals.  True, they were just immature kids, but they were people—a large crowd of people with piercing eyes watching, calculating, judging.  I knew that it wasn’t about the cold, ferocious water or the challenging line through which I would have to expertly maneuver and not even about life and limb.  No, something deeper was at stake: my value and worth was once again on the line.  

​Life feels like that sometimes.  No matter how well I did previously, I have to go out there into that arena and do it again…win the contest, bring home the bacon, save the princess, defeat the foe.  Passing life’s tests can feel exhilarating as I prove myself and get the answer to the question, “Do I have what it takes?”  But a few days pass, and the question haunts me again, and I wonder.  Then in another trial, another contest I prove my ability, but still I wonder.  It seems to matter little that I did great deeds in past days.  It’s all about proving myself now, again on this fresh field of battle.  But I don’t feel fresh anymore.  The contests, the wins, and the losses, though they bring a rush of euphoria in a fleeting moment, leave this warrior weary.  Something is always spent, a deposit withdrawn from an ever-decreasing account.  

​As I drifted toward the current that would take me down to the wave trains, down past the teens, down to the reply that my heart shuttered to find the answer to, I suddenly didn’t want to do this anymore.  I didn’t want to go through another test and let another crowd determine whether I was good enough or let their voices determine my worth.  And then…amid the roar of the rapids and the shouts of the mob and weighed down by my fearful heart’s rapid pulsing, I whispered a prayer, “Oh, Jesus, will you help me!”  

That moment reminds me of the time Peter walked on water.  In Matthew 14:25 it says, “And in the fourth watch of the night He [Jesus] came to them, walking on the angry sea.”  In the wee hours of the morning when the darkness is thickest, the disciples were desperate, and the situation felt hopeless.  It was then that Jesus came to them.  Peter, on seeing Jesus, asked permission to walk out on the waves to Him.  Jesus responded, “Come on.”  So, Peter stepped out, let go, and walked forward.  Everything was going really well until he looked at the wind and the waves.  He took his eyes off Jesus and fixed his gaze and his thoughts on the scariness of the ocean swelling around him.  And he sank.  In this futility and helplessness, he did the only sensible thing he’d done all day; he cried out to Jesus, “Save me!”  With compassion Jesus reached out His hand to catch Peter, saying, “You of little faith; why did you doubt?” They climbed into the boat, and the waves calmed. 
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We tend to hone in on the central encounter between Peter and Jesus in this account, but there’s a boatful of other disciples that are part of the story, too.  They were all frightened—panicked even—fatigued to their human limit from rowing all night, and then they saw Jesus, but thought Him a ghost.  All the disciples, Peter and the lot of them, were having one of the worst experiences of their lives.  And when Jesus came to them, it’s not what He said to Peter that grabs my attention most, but what He told them all, “Take heart; it is I. Do not be afraid.”  The Greek renders it, “Be courageous; I Am.”  

Wow! when the chips were down for the disciples and their backs were against the wall, Jesus cheerfully strode across the water and simply said, “Hey, fellas! be courageous because guess what?  I AM!” 
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The Great I Am…He was here before Moses and Abraham.  He saw the foundations of the world formed with a Word.  As a matter-of-fact, He was that Word!  He baffled the religious leaders and bestowed power to some fishermen.  He restored the broken, healed the sick, and resurrected the dead.  He broke the power of the Law and the curse of death, and then the Great I Am hung from the cross and cried, “It is finished!”  He not only made it possible for us to have eternal life, but He paid for all the striving, all the testing to see if we were worth anything, all the battles to prove ourselves…all of it was covered and provided for once and for all.  

So, when Jesus came at the critical moment declaring to those trembling disciples “Take courage; I Am,” He wasn’t just speaking to them, but making a declaration for us all that when the Great I Am is with us, we don’t need to worry about much else.  When the Great I Am is with us, a little splashy sea water doesn’t amount to a hill of beans.  And when the Great I Am is with us, it doesn’t much matter what the crowd thinks of us.  It’s what the Great I Am thinks that counts. 
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In my whitewater boat, facing the wind and waves and crying out to Jesus, I thought about my prayer and considered just what was it I wanted Jesus to help me do?  Run the rapid?  Look good in front of some adolescent strangers?  Not drown?  In truth, it was probably a little of all of those things I wanted, but what He knew I needed most was the reassurance from the voice of the Shepherd that I am valuable beyond my abilities. No matter what happened, whether I looked like a hero or a goat, I needed to remember Jesus considers me worth loving.  I am worth loving!  The answer is so simple that I almost blush to write it:  I need to be reminded that Jesus loves me and that I can love myself, despite my performance.  Because of Jesus' unconditional love all the tests of merit, performances and striving for worth can cease leaving life full of abundance, opportunity and plain old fashioned fun.

So, did I ride the river down like an ace paddler or swim every swell sputtering like a fool the whole way?  That really doesn’t matter.  However, if you know Jesus much at all, then you already know what He said in response to my question, “Oh, Jesus, will You help me?” 
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With the kindness and strength of the Great I Am, He simply said, “I will.” 

When I got to the bottom of the rapid, past the noisy gawkers and churning tempest, one of my co-workers paddled up next to me and eagerly asked, “Wanna carry our boats up and run it again?”  I smiled, thought of Jesus, and grabbed my boat for a second run.

“For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,
neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth,
nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us
​from the love of God ​that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” 
Romans 8:38-39