The good kind of sad

I lost it on Jazzy on the way to school today and went through most of the morning with a pit of guilt in my stomach. Around lunchtime, a Facebook memory filled my phone’s screen. The video of A.J. and his goat should have made me smile, and on another day, it might’ve. But today the remembrance swallowed me up in sadness. By the time I slumped over the rolled-down window of Robert’s truck in the parking lot after school, I couldn’t keep the tears back. How quickly a fleeting mist becomes a downpour. 

My song came on in the car, and I tasted salt, though the words rang truer than sadness.

All my life, You have been faithful. All my life, You have been so, so good.

A juxtaposition of goodness and sorrow, the moment reminded me of a conversation I had with Roxie earlier this week. I’d woken up on Sunday morning feeling prompted to pray for both of the girls’ salvation. 

So often, I’ve asked …

Father, draw them to Yourself. Let them know Jesus and follow Him with all of their hearts for all of their lives.

The prayer wasn’t new but the sense of urgency was. 

I was teaching in children’s church that morning, and I paused the video to talk about what it means to give Jesus everything—to choose His Way without holding back or looking back. That the only thing we have to offer the King of the Universe is our whole selves. How “yes” is the only good response when Jesus, who died and lives again for us, asks if He can have it all.

Shouldn’t He? Have it all, I mean. How astounding that the only One who could rightfully demand our “yes”—Jesus who made all and gave all—chooses instead to invite. A life freely laid down calls for love freely given.

“Yes” is the right answer, but it cannot be coerced—even by a mama who can imagine no greater joy than to see her children walking in the truth. So, I was surprised to find Roxie’s little hand in mine after the last of the other kids fled to the next room. They’d long disappeared into a maze of brightly colored tunnels and slides, but she looked up at me with a trembling chin and watery eyes. 

Mama, I’m sad.

She couldn’t say why she was sad, and I nearly peppered her with a series of anxious questions, but the Holy Spirit is as wise as He is kind. I paused a beat, and then I understood.

You know, there’s a kind of sad that’s good. I cry when I pray sometimes. I think it’s because God is so much bigger than my heart can hold. Do you feel the bad kind of sad or the good kind of sad? 

Roxie felt the good kind of sad, and her mama got to lead her to Jesus right then and there. Later, she told her daddy all about it, eyes shining with newfound faith.

I gave my whole heart to Jesus.

Are there any sweeter words?

Today was more bitter. I felt the bad kind of sad until I remembered that only good can come from anything offered wholeheartedly to Jesus. He is good through and through, and anything He touches can’t help but be changed, like water into wine. Contact with Jesus transforms even the worst things we can imagine. The cross becomes an emblem of freedom, and death is swallowed up in victory.

Just the brush of His hand, and my heart’s bucket gives way, good tears flowing as I cast my cares on the One who cares for me.

All at once I see it—how the world goes awry when I lose perspective. When anyone or anything but Jesus takes center stage, it’s disorienting. Like living in a sun-centered galaxy and thinking everything revolves around the earth. Like living in a Son-centered universe and thinking everything revolves around me. I know Copernicus was right, but there’s something about the way the light peaks over the horizon and blazes a trail across the sky that tricks me into believing I’m the point around which everything is turning. 

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Things go bad when me and my finite mind start making judgment calls about things far beyond my feeble understanding—when I get “too big for my britches” and forget to depend on the God who settled the stars in a hundred billion galaxies. 

Who gets to decide what is best, what is just, what is good?

The responsibility is God’s alone. This is made clear through Luke 9-19, a travel narrative that records Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem and the cross. Here, we find a series of encounters where Jesus turns the common view of what is “good” or “bad” on its head by reorienting each circumstance around Himself. 

For example, the prevailing culture classified priests and Levites as “good” and tax collectors and Samaritans as “bad.” But Jesus criticized the hypocrisy of religious leaders, visited the home of a tax collector, and made a Samaritan the hero of a story about genuine love. 

Other stories include an unexpected reversal of roles. A “bad” prodigal son is welcomed home with fanfare while his “good” older brother looks on with acrid envy. Later, a poor man attends a heavenly banquet while a rich one goes without water in the flames of Hades.

In Luke’s travelogue, we discover that cultural norms don’t get to determine what is good or bad, because only God can do that. Feeling pressure from a society in which hospitality equals honor, Martha grows annoyed with her sister for failing to help serve their guests. Yet, Jesus calls Mary’s choice to sit at His feet good. Jesus’ disciples argue over who is greatest and can’t be bothered with children, but Jesus welcomes children and lifts them up as examples of faith.

Over and over, human “wisdom” is upset when Jesus enters the scene. It’s only when He shows up that there is light to see what is truly good. Hospitality and wealth aren’t bad, in and of themselves. But nothing good comes from letting those things creep into Jesus’ rightful place at the center of life. 

In Luke 18, as Jesus draws near to Jerusalem and the cross, there is a story that puts everything into proper focus for me. A rich man asks how to gain eternal life. Instead of answering immediately, Jesus first asks why the man is calling Him good (Luke 18:19). This response has always puzzled me, because Jesus is good. What’s wrong with stating the obvious? In the context of the whole travel narrative, though, Jesus’ admonition makes sense. The man’s heart—not the truth of his statement—is being called into question. The rich man thinks he knows what is best for his own life—this much becomes clear when he chooses his many possessions over following Jesus. If he really believed that Jesus is good, he would have followed Him at any cost.

Today we are faced with the same choice. We are inclined to devote our thoughts, our time, our talents and our energy to whatever or whoever we deem “good”. May we discover true goodness as we draw near to Jesus. Like 7-year-old Roxie, may we offer Him our whole hearts.

“You are good, and what You do is good; teach me Your decrees.”–Psalm 119:68 (NIV)

“For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”–Luke12:34 (NIV)