Unmerited Favor

I have been thinking a lot about avoiding pain.

I love to avoid pain.

But in trying to avoid it, I spin out of control with anxiety and fear—giving myself very poignant and very current pain while trying to avoid future pain.

Let's have that sink in for a moment.

In trying to avoid a perceived future, I make that future my current reality.

I mean, maybe those circumstances haven't happened to me. But I am living as though they have. I am living in the fear and torment that causes me pain.

Wasn't I trying to avoid pain?

If all of this that I have done to myself was meant to protect me, and it hasn't worked, what do I do about it?

Clearly, worrying about my future makes my life experience worse. So how do I stop worrying about it?

I think I've realized that in avoiding pain, what I am really striving for is perfection.

That if I were just practiced enough, knowledgeable enough, networked enough, experienced enough, I would be able to foresee and handle these potential threats before they become real problems.

But here's the thing.

All things cannot be known at all times when they are needed.

Despite our best efforts and attempts, we are not going to be perfectly practiced for every occurrence in our lives. Even in the moments when we are, we still manage to make mistakes and screw up—where our abilities, logic or expertise fail us.

That is just part of the human experience.

At my job, we talk about living with integrity. And integrity is not about never missing a deadline. Rather, it's having a system in place to catch yourself when you miss one. And if that fails, to clean up the mistake.

Am I humble enough to deal with the shame or embarrassment of people watching me fail?

Of me seeing me fail?

Or does the fear of that experience grow to be so great that I would rather whip myself up into anxiety—to overwork, over-try, overanalyze my circumstances—in order to avoid that feeling?

I remember when I felt that way.

I was trying out for the first time ever—yes, the first time I ever had to try out for a team.

And I was trying out for a team that was ranked in the top 30 in the country.

My previous club was barely making it past the first couple rounds of our state tournament. We were very unranked nationally.

After completing the tryout, I remember hopping into the passenger seat of our 2001 Toyota Sienna minivan and bursting into tears next to my dad.

I was filled with shame and deep embarrassment that I couldn't complete most of the technical challenges at the level of my peers.

I felt humiliated. I felt like everyone was watching me stumble through the drill. It was clear that I was very far behind the caliber of the other players.

I felt about one inch tall.

A few days later, we got the call from the head coach about whether I had made the team.

He opened the call to my dad in his Slovakian accent:

“I like your family.”

One year prior, my older sister, Morgan, had joined one of his other teams and was becoming a core contributing member of the squad. The coach continued to tell my dad that seeing my sister and our family consistently show up, and seeing her effort and contributions, were very valuable to him.

And so he took a risk on me.

And I made the team.

Unmerited favor.

My sister's influence on her coach changed how he made a decision about me.

She was my advocate without even knowing it.

A decision that I thought was going to be purely based on my performance was largely made because of her influence.

Something that, as a 14-year-old, I would have never considered a possibility.

There I stood, receiving an opportunity completely undeserved because of the efforts of another.

And as I reflect on this, I realize that so much of my life is unmerited favor.

Despite working hard, despite trying to be wise, I will never be able to accomplish all things on my effort alone.

There was no amount of practicing or knowledge or anything else that could have prepared me for that tryout.

I was already the top performer on my existing club team. I would train outside of practice, work out and eat right. I was doing all the things I knew to do.

And my efforts were simply not good enough.

Fortunately for me, where my ability ended, Morgan's influence began—and it was enough for me to be considered worthy of being on the team.

And I think there is something in that story that I am still learning today.

Similar to how Jesus is described as our advocate with the Father (1 John 2:1), Morgan was an advocate for me in making that team.

I did not know what was happening behind the scenes.

I could only see my own performance.

I thought my future was being decided by how well I performed in that moment.

But there was another influence at work that I couldn't see.

And isn't that so often how God works?

I can only see what is in front of me.

I can only see my current circumstances, my current abilities, my current mistakes, my current fears.

But God sees what I cannot.

He is the author and perfecter of my faith (Hebrews 12:2). He is already present in the things I am afraid of. He knows my every need before I even know it myself.

And He fulfills His promises—not because I have perfectly prepared myself to receive them, but because He is faithful.

He brings people into my life to guide me, pray for me and give me wisdom. He provides in ways I could not have anticipated.

He is completely and totally my Jehovah Jireh—the One who provides for my every need (Genesis 22:14; Philippians 4:19).

And that doesn't mean I will never experience pain.

It doesn't mean I will never fail.

It doesn't mean I will never be embarrassed, disappointed, ashamed or afraid.

But maybe I don't need to spend today trying to prevent every painful thing that could possibly happen tomorrow.

Jesus actually tells us not to worry about tomorrow, because tomorrow will worry about itself (Matthew 6:34).

Because even when suffering comes, God is not absent from it.

Suffering produces perseverance, perseverance produces character, and character produces hope. And hope does not put us to shame (Romans 5:3–5).

So maybe I don't need to avoid every painful thing.

Maybe I can trust that God is doing something even in the things I would never have chosen for myself.

Not because suffering is good in and of itself, but because God is able to redeem it.

Ultimately, I am redeemed in Christ.

My sin is redeemed.

My shame is redeemed.

My failures are redeemed.

The things I wish I had done differently are not beyond His ability to restore.

There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus (Romans 8:1).

I don't need to be perfect to be protected.

I don't need to know everything to be safe.

I don't need to anticipate every possible problem before it happens.

I don't need to live tomorrow's fears today.

Maybe faith is partly having the humility to admit that I cannot control my future—and the courage to trust the One who can.

So why do I worry?

Why do I fret?

Why do I bring tomorrow's fears upon me today?

I will wait and trust in the Lord.

I will trust that He will be my source of strength, comfort and joy—in blessing and in times of need.

Because where my ability ends, His does not.

Where my understanding ends, His does not.

Where my preparation ends, His faithfulness does not.

I don't know what tomorrow holds.

But I know who does.

And that is enough for today.