The Fall From Resolution Glory

Last week my husband Kyle and I discussed goals for the coming year. It wasn’t as picturesque as I’d hoped; no new planner was purchased, and we didn’t have time for a quiet weekend away or even a weeknight date. It was already the second week of January and we needed to move things along. I sat at the kitchen table in my yoga pants, my hair in a messy bun, avoiding the remnants of my kids’ breakfast cooties that remained congealed on the tabletop. Sipping mugs of lukewarm coffee, we scribbled notes on scraps of paper and attempted to stay focused as our two-year-old son played at our feet and interjected with questions about backhoes.

I typically enjoy the process of planning. I love reflecting on the past year’s successes and failures. It’s exciting to think of new patterns to help me grow in godliness or ones that just help life go more smoothly. Sometimes, a fresh chance at fine-tuning my life fills me with hope.

I began with goals that aren’t necessarily new or creative: time limits for social media intake, read the Bible before touching the phone, consistent journaling. As the self-assessment continued, the list of good intentions increased. Go to the gym. Eat more vegetables. On and on it expanded into how I engage with my children, how frequently we have family worship, the amount of time I spend writing, reading, and watching Netflix. Etc., etc., etc. until there were more items on my list than there were Cheerios in my couch cushions. 

Two hours of planning later, I’d spastically made plans to reform basically everything in my life. This would be the year I’d wake-up five hours earlier each morning, fold my clothes like Marie Kondo, make meals from only locally-sourced whole foods or chickens named Kevin, rope the whole family into becoming triathletes, keep the inside of my mom-car clean, date my husband (and each kid individually), learn Greek and Hebrew, and lead all the neighborhood kids through an expositional sermon series on the Old Testament prophets while feeding them delicious gluten-free, sugar-free, dairy-free homemade treats I baked in my totally clean oven. I jest. But, my list might as well have been this ridiculously unattainable. 

The Inevitable Fall from Resolution Glory

This year the inevitable fall from resolution glory happened sooner than I’d expected. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment I’d wandered away from realistic, attainable goal setting, but it sure happened somewhere. I’d followed the toxic allure of organization and reform right into the crazy place. In this dangerous La-La-Land, the “Total Transformation of Lindsey” is 100% possible if I’d only try harder. I have apparently not been sanctified to the point of sidestepping this re-occurring January mirage before I fall headlong into its sandy depths because here it was, 2019, and I was still gulping fistfuls of sand and promising I’d try harder.

Condemnation. Despair. Hopelessness. The nagging feeling that I’d disappointed God. All these were mine. But should they have been? Had God really been holding me to the same irrational standards I’d come up with while shot-gunning caffeine and dreaming of Lindsey 2019.0 in all her glory? Maybe my fall felt so far because I’d aimed higher than God had asked of me. 

Replacing My Resolve

What’s the point of my resolutions anyway? As a Christian my resolutions should be all about honoring God. But if I’m honest, I tend to confuse “honoring God” with good-‘ol self-betterment. If I do these things better then I feel better about myself and the bonus is that God receives glory in the process. When my plans and resolutions succeed based on my own scrappy intentionality, my ego is inflated, and I am exalted. When my desires and strivings flop, I come face-to-face with my own failure. It’s only then that I’m likely to cry out for God. In my lack and emptiness, I’m finally desperate enough to depend on God’s power at work within me. But isn’t this place of dependence on His mercy where I should begin? Consider the words from Psalm 44:2-4:

“you with your own hand drove out the nations,  but them you planted;

you afflicted the peoples, but them you set free;

for not by their own sword did they win the land,

nor did their own arm save them,

but your right hand and your arm,

and the light of your face,

for you delighted in them.” 

Broken resolutions remind me that even though I fail to free myself from the sin that entangles – God sets free and God saves. And those people that he saves? He doesn’t hate them. He delights in them. While I may beat myself over bad habits and broken attempts, because of Christ, God does not despise me. He loves me. And because God loves me, I can get up and try again, knowing that God’s kindness is there waiting for me. 

If you have fallen from resolution glory, perhaps it’s time to replace your long list of resolutions with a kinder, gentler, redemptive resolve. Instead of self-betterment, resolve to love God and pursue holiness. Resolve to revel in the love and acceptance of Christ in all your successes and failures. Resolve to marvel over the power of God at work on your behalf. Resolve to rejoice because God delights in you even when your resolutions fall flat. Even when you don’t make it to the gym, your couch is filled with Cheerios, and your t-shirt drawers need organizing – Christ saves you & God loves you.