The Painful Process of Progress

How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time, of course.

A few years ago in 2009, we were surprised by a major pre-Christmas snowstorm. Maryland is not known for its white Christmases, so I was thrilled to see the winter wonderland upon opening the blinds that morning. Until I remembered I needed to walk the dog. The plows would not be seen in our neighborhood for days (life on a Maryland cul-de-sac) and the thought of sloughing through two feet of snow was a bit unpleasant. But Sasha gives the postman in inclement weather a bad name when it comes to the faithful execution of her walk. So off we went.

After managing to navigate down our icy mountain of a driveway via Steve’s newly shoveled path, I found walking possible in the tracks made by a neighbor’s four-wheel drive. It was still tricky going, made even more difficult by being pulled by a 70 pound determined dog, but we slowly made our way down the road. About a quarter mile from my house, across from the deserted golf course parking lot, Sasha zigged when I zagged. Down I went, my bad knee crumpling beneath me. On the way down I heard a “pop-pop” and knew instantly this was not good. Until that moment, my knee had not been fully bent since 1983.

As I sat in the snow, Sasha happily wagging her tail and frisking around me as far as her leash allowed, I tried to think. How was I going to get back home? I was already in serious pain. I wasn’t sure my knee would even hold me up. I was far from the ear shot of any neighbor. Not one car in sight, either. I was on my own.

Somehow I managed to get back on my feet. I took a tentative step. It hurt like the dickens, but I found I could move forward. I turned around and started the trip home.

Never has a distance looked so impossibly long. How would I ever make it back? The answer: one step at a time. Rather than eyeing the impossible distance ahead, I concentrated on each step at hand. Every five steps, I thanked God for getting me a little closer to home. I hoped Steve would realize I had been gone too long and come find me (he didn’t—he was concentrating on shoveling). I kept putting one foot in front of the other. And slowly, ever-so-slowly, I closed the distance between me, the couch, and a hot cup of coffee.

I’m finding it a similar experience in starting a new project. (Not the pain… but the necessary process of progress.) This month I got serious about starting a second book. Sitting down at the computer that first day, I was overwhelmed. Yes, I knew what the book was to be about. I have a file folder of ideas and study notes on spiritual transformation. But as I stared at the blank screen, I began to wonder. Could I really write another book? Or had I already shot my wad? Was Unexpected Love all I had to give?

I shook myself out of my writing paralysis and began to brainstorm. I had no skeleton, no big idea. Just a concept. The content would determine the big idea. So I decided to start by studying all of the passages I could find on transformation. One verse, one passage at a time.

Writing is a process. What I start with is rarely what I end up with. There’s simply no way to circumvent the process. So I (often painfully) move forward, one step at a time.

Kind of ironic, because going through the process, writing on transformation, is exactly how God changes us. There are rarely huge leaps ahead. Just lots of little steps: new things he teaches us about him, about his ways, about ourselves and the people around us. The more truth we have, the more our knowledge grows, which turn into beliefs that gradually influence our behavior. And ever-so-slowly, we move forward, changing and growing into the image of Jesus Christ.

Be patient in the process. You’ll never eat an elephant in one sitting. But you will eventually finish if you just keep taking one bite at a time.

“Work out your salvation in fear and trembling, for it is God who is at work in you, both to will and to work for His good pleasure.” Philippians 2:12-13