How do you measure up?

When I measure up, I get sixty inches of height if I stretch my neck and tilt my chin(s). When I was a kid, I loved to have my measurements taken and would have announced if possible on national TV my ongoing attempt to be taller than my 4' 10" mom. When I finally passed her height by a whopping two inches, I bloated with boast.

Today I feel different about anything that measures me. For instance, I break out in scales if I have to be weighed. And don’t waste my time trying to measure my waist because I’ll have to belt you if you get too close. Even my shoe size is a “boot,” since my foot has more sole at this juncture. Everything seems to get fluffier as you, uh, season.

It’s interesting to me how many things and ways we measure: houses by square footage, trips by miles, days by hours, oil by barrels, blood by units, and animals by herds, packs, flocks, litters, gaggles, and so on.

Gaggle. Isn’t that a great word? It sounds like a cross between giggle and gag, which is what I do when I think of my age. We usually gauge age not only by years but also by hair color, wrinkles, and vigor. My Mamaw (grandmother) lived to be ninety-seven and a half . . . now that, girlfriend, is a lot of calendar pages to gaggle over.

Even when I was a child, Mamaw’s face looked like an ancient map, one that I loved to trace in my mind. Little did I realize that her map would one day lead me to my own mirror. Today I have the joy of being a crumply map for my grandchildren.

Take heart if you are a kindred weathered-faced friend, because wrinkles turn to crinkles when you’re joyful. And who doesn’t love a well-patterned smile?

But there are things in life one can’t measure easily, like our appetites. We try measuring how hungry we are with words on a scale from sorta to ravenous, which reminds me of an article I read recently about a hot-dog-eating contest in New York. The young man who won ate forty-nine hot dogs in twelve minutes. Twelve minutes? Gulp. Groan.

Another thing that is difficult to measure is love. Oh, we measure people’s behavior and then try to determine what that says about their love. Behavior can be an indicator of intentions or maturity, but love itself defies precise dimensions. I hold my arms up toward the heavens trying to show my grandchildren how much I love them, but that falls short of describing the fullness of my feelings. And even harder to explain is God’s love.

We are told in Ephesians 3:19 that the love of Christ passes knowledge. Try as we might, there is no sundial, dipstick, Geiger counter, thermometer, yardstick, stethoscope, blood pressure cuff, or seismograph that we can use to measure God’s love. It just can’t be done.

That’s hard for us to grasp. I mean, I don’t know about you, but my love bucket gets holes in it and runs dry from time to time. My heart left on its own narrows, which is why I need access to the resource of God’s love to widen and deepen my capacity.

In the book of Exodus we watch God’s love protectively and provisionally cover his people with his presence. We hear God’s thunderous voice through a burning bush, on a mountaintop, and through his spokesman, Moses. We observe God’s discipline through plagues, hunger, and thirst. We are aware of his generosity as he provides manna, water, and a promised land. Then we try to measure what all that means about God, about us, and our relationship with him. And from our ponderings of God’s Word, we decide what we believe about our life of faith.

I noticed every time the Israelites in Exodus went through a struggle, they would attack Moses, wondering if God had deserted them. It’s hard not to feel abandoned or take it out on others when we measure our happiness according to our comfort levels. Life has the capacity to cramp our style. For Moses’ crew it was a tedious path and treacherous enemies that made them wiggle and whine in discomfort, while for us it’s escalating gasoline prices, high taxes, broken relationships, and war.

When we use happiness as a measure for our sense of safety and peace, our tally comes up short on how we thought God would come through for us. In another words, our numbers and his love don’t seem to jive.

For years, I kept thinking if God loved me he would rescue me out of my difficulties. There have been those times, but often he doesn’t. I have been left to wade through high waters in low boots, which caused me to puzzle over God’s love and scramble about to figure out faith.

Then as I delved deeper, which is one of the benefits of hardship, I realized that God tells us again and again in Scripture that “in the world [we] will have tribulation” ( John 16:33 NKJV). Quite honestly, I just didn’t want to believe it. I want life to be easier not only for me but for all those whom I love. Yet I have observed that change seldom occurs without struggle, whether it’s a caterpillar wiggling free of his cocoon to fly or a person squiggling free of addiction to rise with newfound liberty.

Look in the Old Testament at Joseph’s life—rejection, harassment, and injustice. And what was the result? A wise man came forth out of the prison, one who rose up to handle the responsibility of being second in command over the most powerful nation in the world at that time. Somehow Joseph was able to trust God’s love regardless of being locked in a cell for an offense he didn’t commit.

When I have to sit long in a doctor’s waiting cell—I mean, office—I get whiny. I can’t imagine Joseph’s years in a dank, creepy room without peanut butter or Nick at Nite.

I have to remind myself when times crowd in with pressure, when people hurt my feelings, when my job loses its appeal, when my children fail to heed my advice, and when the newspapers read like doomsday reports, that God didn’t promise life would be easy but that he would be with us as Buzz Lightyear (children’s hero) would say, “To infinity and beyond!”

God can take a jail sentence and use it for the good of the prisoner, whether we are incarcerated behind iron bars or emotional ones. He uses our rejection issues to tutor us in the importance of compassion and inclusion. And harassment is just the right material to teach us the importance of knowing who we are in Christ, so we are not intimidated or persuaded that we are hopeless.

So today if you are wondering how you measure up, rest assured that God is on your side. And if you are trying to figure out God’s measurements, know that his love is beyond knowledge. Try as we might, we cannot fully comprehend the immeasurable love of God—although one of the indicators
is Jesus.