Me and My Rights

I'm not sure if it's a Western thing or more just an American thing, but we talk about "rights" a lot.

Our right to vote.

Our right to own property.

Our right to justice.

Our right to voice our opinions freely.

And so on.

Lately I've been reflecting on some of the rights I hold so dear.  Not necessarily ones like voting, or owning, or even the "right" to a comfortable life.

Things like being understood, being thought of well, being treated well.

Actually, I might not have thought of them as "rights" at all until I realized how I reacted when I didn't get those things.  My friend doesn't understand me?   That's so not fair!  She ought to!  Someone questions a decision I make?  But I didn't make it carelessly.  I prayed about it.  I can explain it all.  It was a perfectly respectable and legitimate decision.  People laugh at me because I can't speak very well?  That's unkind.  They shouldn't be that way.

I hold onto those things (and others), as if I deserve them, as if they are my security.

But in this tight holding…I'm actually harming instead of protecting myself.  In this insistent demanding of things God never actually promised as mine, I miss true freedom.  I miss my real refuge, my real safe place.

The greatest things God gives me don't come packaged as rights – something I deserve.

They come as grace – something I never have been and never will be able to deserve.