A House Built on Sand
Unless the Lord builds the house, the builders labor in vain (Psalm 127:1).
My mom tells a “young Aaron” story about when she knew I would be trouble. When she picked me up after my first day at daycare, the first thing I said was, “Mom! I make everybody laugh!” This, I imagine, was the beginning of my seeking self-worth as a healthy and growing sinner.
For years, my teachers in school would tell me that I needed to behave well because the other kids would follow my lead. I was three handfuls, and I would not comply. I liked standing out, and liked being liked, so I kept being the funny kid. I added athletic kid to my titles, and musical kid, picking up trumpet and guitar in middle school. As I grew into adolescence, I did all the things that I thought were cool and would make me cool. I threw myself at many things, and they all mattered, because if I wasn’t good at things, then I wouldn’t be liked anymore. I wouldn’t have friends… I wouldn’t be valuable. I had constant anxiety about what others thought of me. Did girls like me? Did the guys think I was cool? Did adults think I had a bright future? For a few years, I was able to tread those rough waters, just enough to keep from drowning. I would soon learn that I had built my house on sand. When the storm came, all the house was standing on would wash away.
Two days into my senior year of high school, I found myself engulfed in a fiery, mangled mess of what, just moments before, had been my mother’s Honda Civic. When the car stopped rolling, I couldn’t feel my legs. That is a long story in itself, but the point now is that I was permanently paralyzed from the chest down. My physical appearance and abilities had changed drastically. I was at an age where everyone was making plans for the rest of their lives, and I no longer knew who I was or what my capabilities were.
After the accident, I turned to many things that I thought would fulfill me: smoking, drinking, girls… all the usual suspects, and you know what? I had fun, and I’ll not pretend that I didn’t. If sin wasn’t fun, we wouldn’t be drawn to it. But sin is a synthetic drug—a cheap and fragile imitation of what we truly ache for—and like any drug, its impact on us becomes decreasingly satisfying over time.
As I sat on a couch at a friend’s house downtown, a pipe being passed, I looked at it and thought, “Am I doing this again? Will I feel good, or sick, or anything at all?” If recent events were any indication, getting high was not going to be what I wanted it to be. Almost involuntarily, I clicked the lighter and inhaled, still asking myself whether I wanted to do this again. My vision became unstable, my head began to swim, and my heart sank as it became evident that I had made another poor decision. I stared at the wall thinking about how foolish I was, and how I now had to just sit and wait, impatiently, for the effects to wear off, all the while telling God that I was sorry, again, and I was ashamed, again, like an embarrassed four year old, head down and hands behind his back with no answer when asked, “Why did you do that?” In my shame, I finally asked a useful question: “Why was I doing this?” I had no answer, and I realized I was tired of seeking “good times” that were only ever short lived, never sure to be good, and never actually fulfilling, even if occasionally highly enjoyable (pun intended, I guess).
“Emotionally audible”—that’s how I would describe the way God interrupted my consciousness in that moment. “You know exactly what the answer to your problem is, and you’ve known it your whole life,” he said to me. I once told my mother that I didn’t need to go to Sunday school anymore because I knew all the stories and thus all the answers. But here I was many years later trying to find the one answer I knew to be true, in places where I knew it wasn’t to be found. I had come to the end of worldly logic.
I’ve heard dismissive rants of atheists, saying, “People only find Jesus when they have no other choice.” Frankly, that’s just a pessimistic version of, “Jesus is the only thing that can’t be taken away from you.” This is where my brain inserts Jim Carrey from Liar, Liar, shouting, “AND THE TRUTH SHALL SET YOU FREE!”
Take all I have, take my body, friends, talents, plans (lol)... but nothing taken, nor any combination of things taken, could ever give me life everlasting with my Creator and greatest Love. That hope and assurance is mine by grace through faith. It’s unshakable, untouchable, and greater than all else. Why, once arrived at this realization, would I ever go back to fleeting fancies which can, and will, be taken from me? As Hebrews 12:26-27 (NLT) assures us, “When God spoke from Mount Sinai his voice shook the earth, but now he makes another promise: ‘Once again I will shake not only the earth but the heavens also.’ This means that all of creation will be shaken and removed, so that only unshakable things will remain.”
And so, beloved reader, I turned to Jesus, and the things of earth grew strangely dim. I urge you to do the same. Build on the solid Rock, the only firm foundation, because when (not if) rain comes, streams rise, and winds blow and beat against your house, it cannot and will not fall (Matthew 7:24-25).
You might ask, “But what about all the pain? Why?” I can only say, “I don’t know,” or perhaps, “Because we are children, and we make choices that have unfortunate consequences.” But in the face of disappointment, I would also tell you that pain will be with you no matter the path you take in life, but for those whose hope is in the Lord, one day, “He will wipe every tear from (our) eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things will pass away” (Revelation 21:4).
My self-worth, by the way, is greater than it has ever been, and can no longer be taken away, because it’s not mine at all. I am fulfilled by, and belong to, the Lord. His glory is what I seek, and I’m not just feigning selflessness. I say this confidently because his glory is by far the greatest joy I’ve ever experienced.
“All glory be to Christ, our good and gracious King.”
My mom tells a “young Aaron” story about when she knew I would be trouble. When she picked me up after my first day at daycare, the first thing I said was, “Mom! I make everybody laugh!” This, I imagine, was the beginning of my seeking self-worth as a healthy and growing sinner.
For years, my teachers in school would tell me that I needed to behave well because the other kids would follow my lead. I was three handfuls, and I would not comply. I liked standing out, and liked being liked, so I kept being the funny kid. I added athletic kid to my titles, and musical kid, picking up trumpet and guitar in middle school. As I grew into adolescence, I did all the things that I thought were cool and would make me cool. I threw myself at many things, and they all mattered, because if I wasn’t good at things, then I wouldn’t be liked anymore. I wouldn’t have friends… I wouldn’t be valuable. I had constant anxiety about what others thought of me. Did girls like me? Did the guys think I was cool? Did adults think I had a bright future? For a few years, I was able to tread those rough waters, just enough to keep from drowning. I would soon learn that I had built my house on sand. When the storm came, all the house was standing on would wash away.
Two days into my senior year of high school, I found myself engulfed in a fiery, mangled mess of what, just moments before, had been my mother’s Honda Civic. When the car stopped rolling, I couldn’t feel my legs. That is a long story in itself, but the point now is that I was permanently paralyzed from the chest down. My physical appearance and abilities had changed drastically. I was at an age where everyone was making plans for the rest of their lives, and I no longer knew who I was or what my capabilities were.
After the accident, I turned to many things that I thought would fulfill me: smoking, drinking, girls… all the usual suspects, and you know what? I had fun, and I’ll not pretend that I didn’t. If sin wasn’t fun, we wouldn’t be drawn to it. But sin is a synthetic drug—a cheap and fragile imitation of what we truly ache for—and like any drug, its impact on us becomes decreasingly satisfying over time.
As I sat on a couch at a friend’s house downtown, a pipe being passed, I looked at it and thought, “Am I doing this again? Will I feel good, or sick, or anything at all?” If recent events were any indication, getting high was not going to be what I wanted it to be. Almost involuntarily, I clicked the lighter and inhaled, still asking myself whether I wanted to do this again. My vision became unstable, my head began to swim, and my heart sank as it became evident that I had made another poor decision. I stared at the wall thinking about how foolish I was, and how I now had to just sit and wait, impatiently, for the effects to wear off, all the while telling God that I was sorry, again, and I was ashamed, again, like an embarrassed four year old, head down and hands behind his back with no answer when asked, “Why did you do that?” In my shame, I finally asked a useful question: “Why was I doing this?” I had no answer, and I realized I was tired of seeking “good times” that were only ever short lived, never sure to be good, and never actually fulfilling, even if occasionally highly enjoyable (pun intended, I guess).
“Emotionally audible”—that’s how I would describe the way God interrupted my consciousness in that moment. “You know exactly what the answer to your problem is, and you’ve known it your whole life,” he said to me. I once told my mother that I didn’t need to go to Sunday school anymore because I knew all the stories and thus all the answers. But here I was many years later trying to find the one answer I knew to be true, in places where I knew it wasn’t to be found. I had come to the end of worldly logic.
I’ve heard dismissive rants of atheists, saying, “People only find Jesus when they have no other choice.” Frankly, that’s just a pessimistic version of, “Jesus is the only thing that can’t be taken away from you.” This is where my brain inserts Jim Carrey from Liar, Liar, shouting, “AND THE TRUTH SHALL SET YOU FREE!”
Take all I have, take my body, friends, talents, plans (lol)... but nothing taken, nor any combination of things taken, could ever give me life everlasting with my Creator and greatest Love. That hope and assurance is mine by grace through faith. It’s unshakable, untouchable, and greater than all else. Why, once arrived at this realization, would I ever go back to fleeting fancies which can, and will, be taken from me? As Hebrews 12:26-27 (NLT) assures us, “When God spoke from Mount Sinai his voice shook the earth, but now he makes another promise: ‘Once again I will shake not only the earth but the heavens also.’ This means that all of creation will be shaken and removed, so that only unshakable things will remain.”
And so, beloved reader, I turned to Jesus, and the things of earth grew strangely dim. I urge you to do the same. Build on the solid Rock, the only firm foundation, because when (not if) rain comes, streams rise, and winds blow and beat against your house, it cannot and will not fall (Matthew 7:24-25).
You might ask, “But what about all the pain? Why?” I can only say, “I don’t know,” or perhaps, “Because we are children, and we make choices that have unfortunate consequences.” But in the face of disappointment, I would also tell you that pain will be with you no matter the path you take in life, but for those whose hope is in the Lord, one day, “He will wipe every tear from (our) eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things will pass away” (Revelation 21:4).
My self-worth, by the way, is greater than it has ever been, and can no longer be taken away, because it’s not mine at all. I am fulfilled by, and belong to, the Lord. His glory is what I seek, and I’m not just feigning selflessness. I say this confidently because his glory is by far the greatest joy I’ve ever experienced.
“All glory be to Christ, our good and gracious King.”
Aaron Spina serves Bethesda Lutheran Brethren Church in Eau Claire, Wisconsin as Director of Worship Arts.
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