I haven’t developed a whole lot of skills over the years, but I have achieved expert status in one area: AVOIDANCE. To say I am non-confrontational is a mammoth understatement, except where my husband and children are concerned, of course. If a volatile situation needs to be addressed, I have those “faithful few” who are always up for the challenge–yes, I’m not ashamed to admit that I have other people do my bidding (well, maybe a little ashamed). But it’s amazing the amount of courage I can muster when instructing my “ambassadors” on how to resolve MY dilemma by proxy. Just ask my mother or my husband.
Now, I am more than willing to take my fair share of the blame for this avoidance disorder. But make no mistake–culture and technology have been there to support me every step of the way. Long before we had smart phones, there was the “bless-ed” invention of caller I.D. I mean, really. What’s the point of even having caller I.D. if not to avoid those awkward or annoying conversations? And while we’re on this topic, what about peepholes? Just more evidence that we humans have been mastering the art of avoidance for quite a long time.
If I’m brutally honest, I suppose a big part of my own avoidance addiction is the fear of being rejected. I can remember, as a kid, that I wouldn’t even ask my parents to let me participate in something if I had the slightest inkling they might say “no.” Even back then, I preferred the ache of missing out over the anguish of their veto. And I guess that’s when I learned to erroneously equate refusal with rejection.
This twisted ideology isn’t all that significant when involving nothing more than sleepovers and ear piercings. But when it hangs around past adolescence and into adulthood, the stakes rise with astronomical force. You see, now it’s the job I won’t pursue for fear I’m not really qualified; it’s the book I won’t submit because it might not be “good enough” to publish. It’s even that couple I won’t invite to dinner because they “probably have other plans.”
This art of avoidance has also shaped my parenting style. As the fully self-actualized person I falsely claim to be, I am under no illusion that I am in the running for any parenting awards. There’s this ugly truth that no matter how deeply we bury our own fears and insecurities, they are bound to surface eventually, and they often spill over onto our children. Such is the case with me.
When my kids would bring up a particular team they wanted to be a part of, I’d advise them–with wisdom and compassion–not to try out if they weren’t sure they could make it. Well, I was a bit more subtle, but with the very same sentiment: if there’s a chance you won’t succeed, then don’t even try. Now, surely that’s on a hallmark card somewhere, or at least it should be. Or not.
The truth about avoidance is that it always stems from our desire to escape discomfort. Whether it’s an awkward conversation or a potential rejection, we want to avoid things that may not end well. I can call to mind multiple situations where hindsight gave me a brand new and very different perspective. Countless times, I’ve said to no one in particular, “If only I had known…” I’m quite certain this is a universal truth. If we could somehow foresee the painful ending of a relationship, surely we would decide not to fall for that person in the first place. If we knew ahead of time that the company would go bankrupt, clearly we would not accept the job. But part of our humanness is living with the limitation of “not knowing.”
But God is not like us–in so many ways. His omniscience affords Him the knowledge of all things–past, present, and future. One way He is like us, on the other hand, is in His experience of grief. Maybe you haven’t often pictured God with tears, but rest assured that He can feel pain to the very core of His being. Now, combine those two attributes of God–His omniscience and His emotion–and you arrive at a most bewildering and yet beautiful conclusion.
Long before He spoke the world into existence or breathed His life into mankind, God knew how the story would go. He knew that the pain of rejection would crush Him, and the price of redemption would cost Him everything. And yet He never laid aside His pen and paper. Almighty God, the only One who cannot say “If only I had known,” chose not to act on that knowledge, or at least not in the way you might expect. He didn’t abort the plan to avoid the pain–that’s way too human. God’s desire for us is so great that He was willing to risk the agony of our rejection in order to experience the delight of our fellowship.
Let your heart absorb such an incomprehensible love on this Valentine’s Day.
“…the Lamb slain from the foundation of the world.” Revelation 13:8