It’s December 30th. At least in my imagination, everyone stands with their pencils sharpened and their new calendars opened, proliferating plans and grabbing up goals for a new year.

I love intentionality and evaluation. In fact, as a family, we tend to over-evaluate every event. We love to ask questions like “How did that meal go?” and “What could we have done better?”; however, this year I find myself more slower to plan and quicker to pause. I am more aware than ever of the two poles I tend to frequent when it comes to planning: pious activity or pious passivity.

Pious Activity & Pious Passivity

Naturally tightly-wound, even after being loosened by parenting three boys, I tend to want to grab the reigns and tell the new year what it will do. In this state, I see time as my medium and my will as an instrument of imposition. The good here is that I pray with Moses, “So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom” (Psalm 90:12). I want to make the most of days God has given; I recognize that I have been given the gift of time on earth. I know that, as an image-bearer, I am invited into the forming and filling of the stuff of my days. The problem here is that I begin to slip into a form of practical self-sovereignty — wrongly assuming that I know what is best and have all the angles. Thankfully, I have lived long enough to grow weary of my self and self-imposed plans. God’s plans have always proven better than mine, and He always surprises me. I know more of my weakness, and I see strong veins of weakness even in my strength.

Thus, I swing my soul’s pendulum toward pious passivity. In this state, my days become the instrument acting upon me. I take a receptive and reactive posture to the needs and demands of each day. Here, I say with Mary, “Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word” (Luke 1: 38). But my soul quickly slips into comfort or gets lulled into indifference. I unintentionally truncate the terms of being an image-bearer and begin to paint myself as a pawn. In doing so, I wrongly assume that God cares little about my desires or dreams which I imagine pains his heart.

Do you see now why I feel paralyzed as everyone around me seems to be proliferating plans?

The Perfect Pairing

In the life of Jesus we see the perfect pairing of pious activity and receptivity. Jesus himself said that he only did the father’s will, only spoke what the Father said (John 5: 19–24). It was his food to do the very will of God (John 4: 34). He willed the will of the Father as one in constant conversation with Him. Even in the Garden of Gethsemane, we hear hints of the caring conversation between the two, as Jesus says, “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me. Nevertheless, not my will, but yours be done” (Luke 22: 42).

My prayer is that, as I mature in Jesus’s presence into His likeness, the pendulum between pious activity and pious passivity will swing less, as the two become more properly paired in my life. In the meanwhile, I am learning to be more aware of where my soul is presently residing, as I ask for God’s steadying help. I know this is nothing new, as James told the early truth to plan but to hold plans loosely in light of God’s providence (James 4: 13–15); however, learning how to live out biblical truths practically is the stuff of spiritual maturity.

As it stands, I’ll be planning loosely this year, leaving room for unexpected locusts and losses which will perfectly accomplish his good will and pleasure in my life and the lives of those whom I love (Joel 2: 25; Romans 8: 28).

Of Losses & Locusts

I’m learning to let the locusts have their fill,
To let them strip my surplus down to nil.
The vacancy they voraciously create
Better sets the stage for His good will.

I’m captive to His love, not a captive of fate;
Even locusts do His bidding, soon or late.
For His will is merely his love in action,
My good and His glory in it conflate. 

Leave the locusts to their subtraction,
For their clearing offers Him traction.
Losses look different bathed in grace
Disappointments dance in diffraction.

When losses and locusts litter the race,
May He be the lifter of each fallen face.
May He teach tired eyes how to trace 
His love which sets both plan and pace.  

In the words of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, “God’s gifts put man’s best dreams to shame.” May this year be one in which God’s presence delights you as his providential dealings with you direct you. Happy planning, friends.