In my last post, I used the opening of the Lords prayer, “Our Father,” to begin an extended discussion on faith. Before pushing further into Jesus’ famous words, I thought it might be good to take a look at one feature of being a child of our father – the scary good truth of dependence.

Not as happy as I look

This idea came to me as I began the process of recovery from shoulder surgery. At my pre-op visit, the doctor breezily informed me that I would be in a sling for up to four weeks. When I mentioned this to my wife Joanne, she expressed a loving willingness to serve me in whatever way necessary. Even in the abstract, the convergence of my doctor’s prognosis and my wife’s unhesitating offer of help was vaguely unsettling. The reality? Let’s just say that having my spouse tie my shoes and wash my hair (the latter for a blessedly brief couple of days) has not brought about one of my shining moments.

Growing up in my family, I learned that self-sufficiency, self-reliance, and independence were at the pinnacle of the virtues. Similar hubris marked many of my parents’ and my generations, but the Beckmans majored in it. Had my father created a coat of arms, the motto would have been, Mihi credo (“In me I trust”) with the saying, mihimet ipsi sufficio (“I am enough”) in one quadrant and many similar expressions in the others. I don’t know what the heraldic imagery would have been, but it certainly would have involved many signs of persons rampant in their self-determined glory. The irony was that we were equally trained in a kind of modesty that nevertheless failed to hide our essential pride. No boast, just fact.

Over time, the Lord has broken off large chunks of my self-governing streak. But this shoulder thing has brought a fresh awareness of how deeply it runs. Dependence on my wife is a very concrete experience, one that starkly reminds me of my resistance to my even more fundamental dependence on God. Sure, I don’t ask him to tie my shoes, or to feed me when I’m 64. But the signs that I need his help and sustenance in every way are unassailably evident. I breathe, I think, I type (one-handed) this blog through the fact that he allows and empowers me to do so.

The story of my dependence on God goes farther than my next heartbeat, however marvelous that may be. The temptation is to think of myself as THE decision maker, the one so in control and supremely engaged in my destiny. I am, of course, an actor in my own drama, but it is too easy to see myself in a starring role. The truth is that at every juncture of life I can never lay claim to being a self-made man. I remember a pivotal epiphany of this connected to getting married. A few days after the ceremony I was basking in the glory of my wise pursuit of Joanne,  thoroughly enjoying a review of the courtship, the proposal, the planning, the invitations, the wedding – all full of thinking and ideas and choices.

In a moment, the Holy Spirit showed me how the whole thing was much more about the providence of the Father, which led and intersected the countless details of our relationship, mostly without our knowledge or understanding. Maybe it was the glow of connubial bliss, but this revelation stirred my admiration and worship, rather than my pride and resentment. The thought arose in my mind: What a blessing to be dependent. I had been the beneficiary of my good God and his loving care. I had known this and had been thankful, of course, but not nearly in a way that matched the gift or the Lord’s active rule over our lives.

The more I consider the constant presence of the Father in my life – whether through triumph or trial – the more I see that dependence is a truly excellent part of our relationship with God. But does it really matter whether I see it as good? The truth is that dependence just IS, whether I like it, or value it, or even acknowledge it. My dependence is connected to so many things – people, circumstances, history.  The beauty lies in the fact that my ultimate dependence is on “Our Father” who governs it all and works it all out for the perfect good of his children.

 In the light of such an infinite, intimate God, I can only surrender and worship.

 (to be continued)