Come Up Here

There are moments in our walk with God that don’t feel like learning something new. They feel like changing seats.

For the past several weeks, a few friends and I have been talking about a picture God has been painting in our hearts. It began with a wheel that adjusted the flow of water flowing from a reservoir into the valley below (our lives). At first, our attention was fixed on the water flowing downstream. We talked about what was coming into and out of our lives—our thoughts, actions, responses, and fruit, as well as the necessary provisions for our lives.

In many ways, that’s where much of the Christian life is lived.

At the wheel, trying with all our might to regulate the flow.

We ask questions like:

Why did fear come out of me?

How do I produce more peace?

How can I become more patient, more loving, more faithful?

“Why does there never seem to be enough?”

Our focus is on the wheel and the size of the river.

But this week, something shifted.

Instead of continuing to study the water flowing downstream, it was as if Jesus gently took us by the hand and walked us upstream. He seated us beside Him at the reservoir.

The picture was so simple, yet it changed everything.

Suddenly, the conversation was no longer about managing what flowed in or out.

It became about remaining or setting our gaze on where the water begins.

Jesus never asked branches to manufacture fruit. He invited them to abide.

Perhaps we’ve spent far too much time standing beside the wheel, trying to regulate what comes out of our lives, when all along He has been inviting us to sit beside the Source.

I wonder if this has been the quiet invitation of the gospel from the very beginning.

Not another set of rules.

Not even a better set of rules.

Not exchanging legalism for a more relaxed version of legalism.

But exchanging striving for abiding.

Religion is often preoccupied with the wheel.

The kingdom begins at the reservoir.

The longer I sat with this picture, the more I realized how often I’ve lived downstream, eyes focused on the wheel and the “trickle” that seemed to flow from a giant dam. I couldn’t even see the reservoir because my eyes were fixed on my endless list of needs.

Even when I believed in grace, I still found myself measuring the quality of the water flowing from my life. Was I trusting enough? Loving enough? Resting enough? Receiving enough?

Or I was measuring God’s faithfulness by the size of the “trickle.” Was He faithful to His promises? Did I hear Him correctly? Could I really be so bold to believe He is Who He says He is?”

Those questions aren’t wrong.

They’re simply downstream.

Jesus keeps inviting us upstream.

“Come to Me.”

Not, “Come fix yourself.”

Not, “Come produce more.”

Simply, “Come.”

I think that may be why He has been speaking so consistently to my heart about the Bread of Life, covenant, Sabbath, the Vine, the Tree of Life, the waves, and learning to be carried instead of carrying everything myself. They were never separate lessons. They were all invitations to leave the wheel and come sit beside the reservoir.

What if the Christian life isn’t primarily about becoming a better river?

What if it is about learning where you are already seated?

The beautiful thing about a reservoir is that it never anxiously wonders whether there will be enough water tomorrow. It doesn’t strive to create what it already possesses.

It simply holds what has been given.

Maybe abiding looks more like that than we realize.

Maybe peace isn’t something we achieve but Someone we remain with.

Maybe joy isn’t something we manufacture but Someone we receive.

Maybe love isn’t something we force but Someone who continually pours Himself into us.

I’m not writing this because I have it all figured out.

In many ways, I feel like I’ve just taken my seat.

But from here, the view is different.

And somehow, just changing where I’m sitting has begun to change everything I see.

Perhaps today, Jesus isn’t asking you to work harder on the river or to hold steady the wheel.

Perhaps He’s simply inviting you upstream.

“Come.”

The Source has been waiting for you all along.

In everything you do -eat, play, and love- may it always be Seasoned with Joy!

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