Beyond Self-Will

One Saturday morning, I decided to replace the broken doorknob on my family's front door. My wife suggested calling a locksmith. I scoffed.

"A simple task," I assured her. "Probably will take me about half an hour at most."

The fellow at the local hardware store showed me a surprising array of options in doorknobbery: from inexpensive models to elaborate ones with costly brass bells and whistles. Reasoning that the main function of a doorknob isn't to produce gasps of artistic awe but simply to open and close the door, I opted for the cheapest model and plunked down my $5.95.

But the half-hour job I expected turned into a five-hour job I detested. Doorknobs, it turns out, are more complicated than I had guessed. At least my $5.95 model was, with its bagful of tiny screws and springs, a metal shaft called a spindle, and a page of indecipherable directions to follow. Stubbornly, I persevered until I became frustrated and whacked the thing with a hammer, in the process breaking the spindle in half and denting the door itself.

Five hours and a second broken doorknob later, I called a locksmith. My wife said, "I told you so."

It's hard to recognize and admit our own stubbornness. When you're lost, do you quickly stop and ask directions, or do you stubbornly try to find the way yourself? When you're driving, do you readily yield the right of way and let another driver move ahead of you? I have a friend who engages me in little battles of the will to determine which one of us will pick up the check when we eat together in restaurants.

Of course, stubbornness can be good when it's properly directed. When the king ordered him to engage in false worship, Daniel wouldn't bend. When the Sanhedrin commanded silence, Peter continued to preach Christ. When his enemies wanted to kill him, Jesus resolutely set his face toward Jerusalem, determined to fulfill the Father's will. That's the faithful kind of stubbornness—an unflinching loyalty to what is right.

But there's a sinful kind of stubbornness, too—when coworkers become inflexible and self-willed, when husbands and wives refuse to give and take, or when church members dig in their heels with an obstinate attitude that says, "It's my way or the highway."

Stubbornness can prevent us from believing and obeying the truth. Remember the people who heard Stephen's sermon in Acts 7? He called them "stiff-necked people." Just as a person with a stiff neck finds it hard to turn around, Stephen's listeners were determined to resist the Holy Spirit. Regardless of the facts, they insisted on going their own willful way (Acts 7:51).

If we're not careful, we adults can end up acting like strong-willed children who resist our Father's will. The Lord told his people, "Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls. But you said, 'We will not walk in it'" (Jeremiah 6:16).

It makes sense to "walk in God's good way." After all, if you get into a tug of war with God, guess who wins?

When we stubbornly insist on our own way, things usually turn out wrong. I don't know about you, but I don't forget that lesson. Something reminds me every time I open my front door.