With all my, a modern day parable

Let me introduce you to Roger. Roger is efficient. His days run seamlessly and he likes it that way. When his phone alarm rings at 5:30 AM, he is up and ready. Thanks to his programmable coffeemaker, he drinks his freshly brewed coffee at 5:37. He's already into treadmill routine by 5:45. He takes care of all of his e-mails before sunup. Roger even has all his calendar items entered neatly into color-coded blocks. His meetings scheduled, groceries delivered, bills automated-life optimized. Roger is beyond well-organized.

 

People admire Roger. "You're so disciplined. I don't know how you do it all." They complement him saying, "You've really got life thing figured out." And in many ways, he does.

 

Roger attends church regularly. He gives online so he never forgets. He listens to sermons while driving. He even volunteers twice a month on the A/V team, because it fit his schedule and doesn't require much conversation. His life seems to "just work."

If someone were to ask him whether he loves God, he would answer immediately, "Of course I do." And he would mean it.

 

One day, Roger's perspective changed. It was Thursday evening, after another long, but efficient day. Roger stopped at the local grocery store to pick up a few things. He checked his perfectly organized list. He navigated effortlessly through the aisles, airpods in, already planning out tomorrow's events. As he reached for a carton of eggs, he noticed an older woman standing near the dairy section blankly staring at the milk.

 

He wanted to move on, and to finish his shopping. But he noticed she hadn't moved. Like at all. She just stood there, staring. Something about her expression unsettled him. It wasn't panic, but more like emotional exhaustion, like she was there, but wasn't. He hesitated.

 

Roger avoided interruptions. Long ago, he had learned that one interruption could throw off an entire schedule. Still, something about this woman just wouldn't allow him to move.

He pulled one airpod out. "Ma'am, are you alright?" Embarrassed to be noticed that way, she said, "Oh, yes. I'm sorry. I just got turned around." "I'm Florence," she said.

 

She explained that her husband had passed away just eight months earlier, and he had always done the shopping. She wandered stores trying to remember which brands he used to buy. "I just can't remember whether he bought 2% or whole milk." Florence sheepishly laughed as she wiped away tears she clearly didn't want him to see.

 

Roger glanced at his watch, then back at Florence. This wasn't in his plan for the evening.

Yet for reasons he couldn't explain, he decided to stay. He helped her finish shopping. They talked while walking slowly through the aisles. She told stories about her husband, Fred.

 

He was an appliance repairman, who loved to tinker in their garage, and sang terribly in church every Sunday.

 

At checkout, she realized she had forgotten her wallet in the car. Roger paid for her groceries. "It's too much," she protested. "It's okay," he said. And it was—it felt right. He toted the groceries and placed them in her car. Before he could leave, Florence reached into her purse and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "Fred kept this in his wallet," she said,

 

"I think I'm supposed to give it to you." Roger refused at first, but Florence insisted. Roger then took it politely. Sitting in his car, he unfolded the paper.

 

Written on the tattered, heavily creased paper was a single sentence written in faded ink:

"Beware of acquiring the whole world while becoming a stranger to your own soul." Roger stared at those deeply profound words for a long time. He thought about how productive and efficient he had become, yet, that day was the first time in a very long time he had truly noticed anyone. He had become so proficient at managing and scheduling people, replying to them with thumbs-up or heart emojis.

 

He pondered these things late into the night. The next morning, he skipped the treadmill.

Instead sat quietly with a Bible he believed in, but had allowed to mostly become decoration on his coffee table. That morning, he read it slowly, not to prepare for a class, or to finish a reading plan. That morning, he came across words he had heard many times before: "Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength... and love your neighbor as yourself."

 

For the first time, the words felt ...different. Not just inspirational, but instead, intentional. In that moment, he realized he had spent his entire adulthood giving God pieces of himself, instead of all of himself. He had given God efficient church attendance, but not worship. He generously gave his money, but not his compassion. He had right theology, but distracted attention. He had figured out the secret of an optimized faith, but it had become just another box to check. And perhaps with the most regret, he had learned how to avoid interruption so well, that he had also avoided people.

 

In that life-altering moment, Roger's committed to changing his life. He used his commute to just pray and spend quiet moments with God. He started learning the names of cashiers and servers. He called his sister instead of merely liking her photos on social media. He prayed more slowly, listened more, and actually took time for others.

 

One afternoon, he visited Florence. Over tea, they talked about grief, faith, loneliness, and all things life. As he prepared to leave, she looked in his eyes and said, "You know," she said, "most people are so busy trying so hard to love God, they forget to love the people He made."

 

Roger hung his head because he knew it was true. He had believed loving God was mostly about how strongly you felt it, how faithfully you attended church, and how consistently you practiced religion. But he was beginning to discover that loving God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength isn't those things. It's more about how you move through ordinary life, how you see people, how you spend time, how you respond to inconvenience, and how willing you are to be interrupted. Because authentic love for God is not compartmentalized.

 

Eventually, others noticed a difference in Roger. They noticed he seemed less hurried, maybe even less efficient...yet more present. One evening after church, a friend asked him what had changed. Roger paused before answering. "I think I spent most of my life trying to fit God into my life." He began to choke up. "Now I'm learning to give my whole life back to Him."

 

And perhaps that is the question we all must answer. Not whether God has pieces of us, but does He have all of us? Not just whether we believe in Him, but are our heart, soul, mind, strength, and relationships being reshaped by His love?

 

So, as we conclude, let me ask you-Do you love God? If so, how? How is your life different because of your love for God? What impact is His love making through you?