Have you ever learned something, and the minute that the knowledge hit you, you knew that you were going to have to make a change? Like, maybe you read in a newspaper article that the CEO of your favorite charity earned a salary that was so ridiculously high that you knew at that very moment you couldn’t, in good conscience, give to that charity any longer. That kind of knowledge leaves you feeling both frustrated – that you have given this charity even a small amount of your hard-earned paycheck – and empowered to make a change in your giving so that you are longer supporting a charity that so frivolously consumes the kindness of others. In the end you are thankful for the truth that you have discovered.
What about the kind of discovery that awakens you to something that you don’t want to change? The kind of knowledge that you know is power, but it feels like a heavy weight? Perhaps you learned that your best friend is having an affair. And while you are furious at your friend for her lack of judgement, you really like her husband and you can’t bear the thought of being the one to burden this man with the information that you are sure will destroy his marriage. In the end, you may wish you had never learned this kind of truth.
In both of these scenarios knowledge makes us feel empowered. In both examples, knowledge leads to frustration at the actions of others. But the end of these scenarios leave us in very different places. One piece of information feels like a gift, and the other a burden.
This article isn’t really about the rich CEO or your unfaithful friend, it is about the power of choice. I am guessing you have heard the old proverb, “Knowledge is power.” However, I feel that knowledge alone isn’t power, it is the choice that we make based on that knowledge that really has power. And while we are going down that road, inaction, the choice to do nothing, is equally as powerful.
It is a lot easier to act based on knowledge that doesn’t make us look inwards. It is so much easier to see the proverbial splinter in someone else’s eye than to see the two by four protruding from our own (Matthew 7:5).
Y’all, I have this knowledge that I need to do something with. The problem is that I know the choice to make a change is going to be uncomfortable, it is probably going to hurt, and it is going to require an amount of self-control that I am not sure I can muster right now. This isn’t new information, I have had the knowledge for quite awhile. Every now and again the knowledge presents itself in a new way – maybe a friends shares something they heard, or I find an article that addresses a specific topic, or most recently, a stranger in a book store puts two books in my hands and says, “You need to read these books.” Equipped with this new, old information, I act. But only for a period of time, and then the knowledge that feels like power today turns into a burden, a heavy weight that I can no longer carry – or more accurately, I no longer want to carry. Just like the Israelites in the wilderness in the book of Exodus, I keep walking in the same big circle. Knowledge empowers me, I choose to act on that knowledge by making changes, the road gets rough, and the truth gets overshadowed by the cares of life – a busy schedule, trying to be too much to too many people – and before I know it, truth and change are in the backseat and shame is at the helm again.
I am not looking for some temporary fix – I want true change. Change that lasts. Change gets me out of the wilderness.
Surely I am not alone. Stop for a moment and consider your own journey. What is it that you keep coming back to? What is that truth in your life that keeps ending up in the backseat, and who is driving?
No, really – stop reading for a second and think about where you are, what you are battling, and who or what is in control.
Friend, I don’t know what you are going through, and I have no idea how long you have been on this road, but if you’re ready to push through, I invite you to come along with me. I am gearing up for a long journey, the path of which I am uncertain, but the destination is sure.
Uncommonly Common Mom 