Column: He's Got His Little Ways

This morning an old Dwight Yoakam tune popped into my head:
The context was not a bad breakup or a cruel mistress, but the realization that I am, in many ways, the same sinner I was before my conversion. I’m not struggling with big sins that kept me separated from the Lord. But the struggles and temptations are still there, and I am often seemingly helpless against them. I’m still tempted to seek physical pleasure—most often in the forms of food, drink, and rest—instead of spiritual goods. And I still turn to the internet when I’m stressed or desire distraction—only now its online TV series, silly YouTube videos, sports highlights, and political news.

These are not grave issues, and most of the time, I am not consciously choosing them in opposition to what God is asking of me. The reality is less serious, but much more insidious: I slip unconsciously, effortlessly, out of the present moment and away from my family and responsibilities. Often I don’t realize until much later how much time I’ve lost or what I’ve missed; when I do realize, the Accuser is there, reminding me how childish and helpless I still am.

That’s where I found myself this morning. Last evening, I spent the final three or four hours before sleep vegging in front of a screen. It started with a family movie, followed by a clean comedy video, but then devolved into satirical movie trailers and political pundits by myself, on my phone. When I was almost too tired to get ready for bed, I realized I hadn’t prayed a rosary yet, despite having friends who needed those prayers. I rushed it while shuffling about getting ready for bed—then rose this morning and immediately opened a browser on my phone.

Holiness indeed, whispered the Accuser in my ear. You have no self-control at all, do you?

The Dwight Yoakam lyric popped into my head: You’ve got your little ways to hurt me—and I imagined myself as Peter, asleep beneath a tree while Jesus sweats blood and prays for the strength to die for me.

I’ll never be rid of these temptations, Lord. I ought to resign myself to my weakness. I’ll never be enough; I’ll never be perfect, as Your Father in heaven is perfect.

Now the Father of Lies again, his hand heavy on my shoulder, pretending to console: It’s not so bad; surely these mindless little distractions aren’t really a problem…

And then another whisper, this time in my heart: Who’s singing this song? Perhaps it is not Me.
It dawns on me: These are the words of a tormented soul giving too much power to someone who doesn’t have his best interests at heart. These are not Jesus’ words to me, but my words to the Enemy.

The Devil loves to distract and deter and torment me with doubt. He can no longer make me turn my back on the Lord, so he pushes me off the narrow path in whatever direction I lean, causing me to stumble, urging me to stop. His efforts are effective because they are, at least in part, true. I am weak and prone to temptation. I do lack self-control, and I seek comfort and pleasure in this world. I can’t achieve holiness or earn salvation on my own.

Blessed are the poor in spirit—those who know their helplessness and their need—for theirs in the kingdom of heaven (Matthew 5:3).

I need God’s help. But I have His help. Turns out it was a breakup song after all.