Does God Care?
That question comes to mind often when I'm on hour 4 of practicing technique that day. It comes again, 4 months in on my project of learning a violin concerto for an upcoming recital. When I'm so tired, the last thing I want to do is to keep going.
There's confusion of conflicting expectations: "just do your best" seems to never realistically line up with avoiding mediocrity while not idolizing perfection. You wonder, or maybe it's just me, "what does God really want from me?".
I ask this question coming from an established confirmation that I'm doing God's will for my life and simultaneously using the talents he has for me to worship Him. That's out of the way. But, there's something missing... Where does this elusive satisfaction come in? Especially when my battling inner monologues seem to always lean towards extremism.
On the right we have: God's pleased with my worship. Stop trying to put in qualifiers that He's only pleased when something meets man's approval first. Perfectionism is unattainable; so why do I keep expecting myself to have it already?
Compare that with the left: Do I really want to bring this unprepared, unpolished, and vague expression before God and call it worship? This presentation would be torn apart by it's inability to pass high standards of beauty and communication. Do I want to give something to God that would be shredded by professional expectations?
Hence my dilemma.
"When I feel like crap, apply the right. When I sound like crap, apply the left. Rinse, repeat."
The best I could do was, and has been, to ask.
God, what do you really care about?
This is the story He showed me.
A small child hears their papa is coming home in the next few minutes. So excited about the news, he runs off to paint a picture of his Papa coming home. The child paints a picture with the love only a child can display using finger paint. It resembles our own childhood pictures- complete with stick figures and a smiling sun above their heads. The father comes home and is not only greeted by his eager child, but sees the picture his child painted. He loves it. He loves it because He loves his child. He loves it because he knows the love it was created with and he cherishes it. With pride He puts it on the wall of his study for all to see.
// I felt such relief, you cannot imagine. Knowing that God see's what I do for the act of love that it is, is hugely comforting. But, I felt like there was something missing. Almost defensively I asked God, "Isn't that enough? Isn't that enough to know that you cherish what I made for you?".
God showed me this. //
The child is now older. Growing quickly towards adulthood, his love for his father has deepened, matured along with his age. His understanding of who his father is, was not the same as when they were younger. In it's place he has found his father is kinder, wiser, stronger, and more generous than He knew before. He still loves to paint and continues to give his paintings to his Papa. And his father still loves to see his paintings and continues to receive them gladly posting them in his studio.
One day, the child, who's almost an adult, goes into his father's study and looks at the compilations of his paintings. He thinks back to how he used to think of his Father with the help of his older paintings. He sighs with satisfaction that with his maturity he knows more about his Father now than when he was 4. His father hasn't changed, but his understanding of him certainly has. He leans closer towards his earlier paintings. He realizes the details portraying His father just didn't come out the way he saw him now. His 5 minute before dinner time finger paintings didn't look as much like his Papa as he thought at the time. He realized his Papa knew what the paintings meant, because he knew me. But, if anyone else saw, they wouldn't see the Papa he knew and loved.
Those paintings have always been enough. Because I made them. But, I realized I wanted my paintings to be seen by others and to be able to see what I saw. My Papa in his splendor.
