Victorious Secret. Laura Mary Phelps
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that I was going to be the lucky person he would share all of his life’s dissatisfaction with. And after running down the laundry list of what his day-to-day routine lacked, he moved on to the sacred: his wife. Maybe it was the drinks. In fact, I am sure it was the drinks. But suddenly, he was very much at ease sharing the most personal details of his marriage with me: running down the things his wife did not bring to the marital table — the lack of respect she had for him, the lack of intimacy between them, really, just the plain ol’ lack. And after his rant, I remember him shaking his head and sort of smiling this sad smile of despair, if there is such a thing. Then he spoke those five deadly words out loud: “What’s in it for me?”
Those words were not only deadly for him, but deadly for me, too. Because once floated out there, like a neon sign hanging over our heads, I started to ask that question for myself. For my own relationship. My own marriage. My own life. My own day-to-day routine. There was this shift in my heart, ever so slight, but that is all it takes, you know, to steer you off track. One small shift of the heart is something our enemy patiently waits for. And in an instant, without being aware of it, I went from thinking about how we could make things better for us, to how I deserved to make things better for me. Because when the tempter has you asking, “What’s in it for me?” you immediately, and unknowingly, erase authentic relationship. With your spouse, with your loved ones, and most importantly, with God.
Now, just a side note here, but speaking poorly about your spouse or a loved one to another person, or sharing intimate details and feelings that truly should go no further than the ears and the heart of the one you made vows to, most especially to the opposite sex, is never a good idea. For obvious reasons. Because this is a fiery poison that will burn down necessary hedges of protection we must plant and place around our most precious relationships. Remember, the enemy hates your marriage and he hates your family, and he will do whatever it takes to destroy them. And he starts with one small shift of the heart. Sister, guard yours. With all that you have, please, guard your heart, because small fractures never remain small fractures. Eventually, they break big. So plant those hedges. And maybe stop talking after two drinks. Or maybe just one.
But Mary. Mary never asked, “What’s in it for me?” Rather, she pondered it all in her heart. She pondered. How often do we ponder? Especially in response to a difficult command or calling from God that we do not understand. Honestly? I think the last time I pondered was in aisle 6, when I had to choose between the tortilla chips with a hint of jalapeño, or the tortilla chips with a hint of lime. Seriously. I spend more time pondering the useless, the stuff that in the end makes no difference whatsoever in my life here on earth, or eternally. But I give immediate, knee-jerk reactions to God when he offers me a game-changing plan, a gift disguised in discomfort, an opportunity for my heart to grow — the things that hold eternal value.
This is why we have to love and learn from Mary. She did not doubt God’s unusual plan for her. She did not look at this truly bizarre calling as a mystery that she had to solve. Rather, she agreed to it, asking to be shown how God wanted her to make it happen. And her response to this angel, this yes to her God, and everything that follows, is something so powerful, so exceptional, that I can barely wrap my selfish human mind around it. Because even at my most faithful, the fire in my heart for Jesus is more like a pathetic, flickering birthday candle than the blazing, all-consuming fire that fills Mary’s heart. When God appears and calls me to do hard things, I usually blow that candle out and run for the hills. And by the hills, I mean the chips and salsa. But not Mary. Her obedience and trust fanned the fire within her, and she stayed still, pondering.
And you might wonder, did I buy the tortilla chips with the hint of jalapeño or the hint of lime? Just kidding. You don’t care. But for the record, I bought and ate both.
But seriously.
You might wonder, because I sure have and often still do … how? How on earth does one get to this place of total trust? Of real, hard-core surrender? Of putting yourself last and others before yourself? Because every single time I think I have reached that place, every single time I say to myself, this must be what it means to lay it all down at his feet, every time it appears I have given all that I have to give over to my Savior, and that green pasture is just around the corner, I am slammed with another trial. I am blindsided by another blow. I am thrown into a brand new battle. I am asked to sacrifice just a little bit more. Trust a little bit more. Have a little more faith. And it is here that I throw myself on the floor, or throw something across the room, or throw that tantrum, just freaking throw … and I scream and I demand to know the answers to those WHY questions that, deep down inside, I know better than to ask. I will be honest: I’m one of those Catholics who prays that Rosary and lights those candles and hits those novenas and rises up early for prayer, and I still scream out to God, in anger and in sorrow, but really, mostly in anger, because honestly, don’t I deserve better? Have I not proven my love? And like a projectile vomit, the ugliness violently spews out:
“Good grief, is this even worth it? What is your good plan, Lord, anyway? Where is your news of great joy? Because I don’t see it. When does this suffering end? When will you reveal to me that great big weight of joy that you promised? Because this hardly seems good and this hardly feels worth it and news flash, Lord, but I’m not feeling the joy! Will I ever see your goodness in the land of the living? Or will I die, like Moses, old and bearded and exhausted, because I have a beard, Lord! Look! I am a grown woman with a beard! What’s the deal with that? Am I just supposed to work hard and suffer and then die, so that everyone but me can enjoy all that milk and honey? Tell me now! I demand to know … do I just need to be dead and bearded to understand any of this? To understand you? And please, Lord, tell me … with this giant cross you have lovingly super-glued to my weak and frail back, that you claim is a gift, I would really like to know, what is the payoff? Where is my sticker? And for the love, sweet Jesus, please tell me, because I am dying to know: WHAT’S IN IT FOR ME?”
Welcome to my inner thoughts that, really, no one ought to hear, except for Father in the confessional. Please pray for the priest who hears my confessions. Poor guy.
But I share this with you because if there is one thing that I have learned in the few years I have worked in women’s ministry, it is that I am not alone. Believe it or not, I am not the only Catholic woman who takes frequent trips to crazyland aboard the selfish express. I am not the only devout woman who loves Jesus, but sometimes doesn’t. Who agrees to pick up her cross daily, but wishes truly that the call was to pick it up biweekly. Or maybe even just once a month. Ideally, not at all. And I know that I am not the only faithful woman who gets so completely overwhelmed, so buried beneath it all, so distracted by the enemy and tossed by the waves, that my “yes” to God, that I desire to give, shifts ever so slightly, transforming itself into a bitter Why? A demanding What? A desperate need to understand the plan and to be assured that in the end, I will be okay.
Because I think “What’s in it for me?” is not simply birthed out of self-centeredness, but rather out of fear. I think we are afraid to answer God’s call. I think we are afraid of what he might ask us to do. I think we are afraid that if we follow Christ, we will not only have to give up those sins that we know are bad for us but think we need to get by, but we will also be asked to constantly give to others. And the fear here is that if we do that, there will be nothing left for ourselves. And I think we think this way because we forget who God is. I think we think this way because maybe we have never truly encountered him. Or we’ve forgotten what that encounter was really like.
You see, Mary, who was so clearly set apart from the rest of us, she knew who God was. She studied the scriptures and soaked up the Old Testament. She had come to know God in such a beautiful, intimate, and personal way. So, when asked to drop everything, when asked to trust, when called to step up to the task she was created for and born to do, nothing other than “yes” made sense. Make no mistake, yes does not mean we understand. But it does mean we have faith, regardless. Maybe if we spent more time in Scripture, getting to know our good Father, this generous and kind King, even though we may not understand the circumstances we are in, we would be less tempted to run from them. To seek out a better plan. To find an easier path. To travel a road less dangerous. To live comfortably. Because our God? He may call