What Am I Owed?

Don't ask me why, but I've been thinking a lot lately about expectations. Just in general.

And the more I think about expectations, the more I'm convinced that perhaps the fewer we carry, the better off we'll be.

Does that make me a cynic? I don't think so. Actually, I've always been told I'm an optimist, and I'd tend to agree. I generally assume the best about people. I flirt with being naive. I look for the silver lining in difficult circumstances. I try to find the good, even when the good is hard to find. Not because I am great, but because my knee-jerk is to avoid sadness like the plague (an area I've grown a lot).

But expectations are a complicated thing. A thing I've had to iron out in my own heart.

We all have them. We expect people to treat us with kindness. We expect respect. We expect honesty, fairness, and decency. We expect gratitude when generosity is offered. And when those expectations aren't met, we're often left feeling hurt, frustrated, or disappointed.

I've been realizing, more and more though, that it's not always the expectations themselves that reveal what's in my heart. It's how I respond when they go unmet. Typing that makes me cringe a little bit.

When someone disappoints me, do I respond with grace? Or do I become resentful because they failed to give me something I believed I deserved? Enter the realization of my own entitlement.

Entitlement can so easily and quietly settle into my heart. I expect a lot from myself, and sometimes I expect just as much from others. I want things to be fair. I want to be treated well. I want people to extend grace to me when I fall short.

And while those desires aren't wrong, I've begun to wonder how often I don't just want them, but I demand them. How often do I approach my relationships with an unspoken belief that someone owes me something?

But then, the Holy Spirit whispers in my ear and I consider Christ.

And Calvary.

And suddenly, the things I think I'm entitled to begin to shift like the sand.

Calvary is love poured out in selfless humility.

Calvary says, "Not me, but you."

And when I stand in the shadow of the cross, I am reminded that if anyone had the right to demand what He deserved, it was Jesus.

Yet He chose to give Himself. Maybe everything isn't about "my rights" like culture has led me to believe. Could it be that I've bought into a lie?

Apart from Christ, I deserve the consequence of my sin. And yet, instead of receiving what I deserve, I have been offered grace.

Grace that billboards His rights laid down, for me.

And I wonder, if I have received such extravagant love, how can I continue holding so tightly to what I believe others owe me? How can I demand respect from people when I have been met with such patience in my own imperfection?

Christ doesn't call us to simply lower our expectations of others and try harder to be gracious. He gives us much more all encompassing and powerful. He gives us Himself.

There is only One who will never fail to be faithful. Only One whose love is perfectly steadfast. Only One who can bear the full weight of our hope without ever letting us down.

Jesus Christ.

People will disappoint us. And if we're honest, we will disappoint them, too. Even the people who love us most cannot perfectly meet every need or fulfill every expectation.

But Christ is our certain hope.

He will never fail to keep His promises. He will never cease to do right by us. His love will never fall short.

And isn't there such freedom in that?

When we stop looking to other people to give us what only Christ can provide, we are freed to love them more authentically, more richly, more fully. We are able to love looking outwardly.

We can extend grace when someone falls short. We can forgive without keeping score. We can love generously, not because we are guaranteed something in return, but because we have already received so much.

Because of Christ, we can begin asking,

"How can I love well?"

And perhaps that's what I've been learning about expectations: It's not that we should expect nothing good from others or pretend that hurt and disappointment don't matter. It's that we aren't forced to place the depths of the chasms of our hearts on the shoulders of imperfect people.

That weight belongs to Christ alone.

So if you've found yourself feeling disappointed lately, perhaps even disappointed by how often you're disappointed, take heart. You're not alone. We are all learning what it means to love imperfect people while being imperfect ourselves. It's all messy.

At Calvary we have already been loved with a perfect love.

A love we didn't earn.

A love we cannot exhaust.

A love that frees us to loosen our grip on what we think we deserve and instead bathe our hearts in the grace received.

A love that begs to be shared...in the real, in the messy, in the annoying of our everyday lives and interactions.

And from that place of fullness, we are free to love lavishly.

Because Christ has become our sure and steadfast hope.