The Day I Told God No

I remember a day many years ago when I realised with a shudder that in order to obey what I had just read in the Bible, I would have to take a specific action. I knew very well what I had to do, but I also knew very well what it could cost me. There was a good chance that this step of obedience could fundamentally change—or even destroy—a close friendship, and I was terrified of that possibility. I knew what I had to do, but I did not want to do it. I tried to reason with the Lord, to show him that his command was too much to ask of me. He did not relent. So I tried a different approach: I simply said “no.” There on the floor of my bedroom, I told the Creator of everything that I was happy to follow him in everything except this one thing.

I told God “no.”

I expected a fight. I expected him to coax and convict me and I was ready to argue my point and stand toe to toe with my Maker. I was not ready for what actually happened.

God said “ok.”

Then he left.

Yes, I know my theology. I know God is everywhere, and you can’t escape his presence, even if you want to. When I say God left me that day, what I mean is that he stopped calling me to do what he said, and simply left me to myself.

My first feeling was surprise, followed by a sense of freedom. I was free to say “no” to the God who made me, and he let me do it. I was free to make my own way, choose my own path, make my own rules. And what would I do with that freedom? One thing was for sure: I would not do the hard, costly thing God wanted me to do. What else?

I sat on the floor looking ahead at my life, and I began to realise that this one little “no” would change everything. I was free to say it, and free to live it, but I was not free to control the consequences of that one little word. There in my room I was sitting at a crossroads. I could continue with the “no”, or I could continue with God. I could not continue with both. If I wanted God in my life, I could only have him one way: as my King. He would not accept a position as my consultant. If I insisted on reserving final decision-making authority for myself, then I could crown myself and have it—but I could not employ the God of the universe as one of my royal servants.

Two letters. So simple. Two paths. So different. I looked down the road of “no” that day and saw it gaping like a black hole in front of me—what could I live for, that would last? What happiness could I find that would not eventually fade and fall like the leaves in autumn? What security could I build my life on that would not eventually let me down? What legacy could I build that would not eventually fall to ruins? What hope could I reach for that would not be cut off by my own inevitable death?

Yes, there is a kind of freedom down the road of “no”. A flower is set free when it is cut from its roots—until it dies. But a flower that stays connected to its roots is free in a different way: it is free to thrive as it was intended to, to draw life from its source and bloom with it. That kind of freedom only comes on the road of saying “yes” to my Creator, putting down roots in his love and drawing my life from his inexhaustible supply.

I changed my answer.

Obeying wasn’t easy, but with God’s help it wasn’t as costly as I thought it would be, either. That’s not the point. Even if it cost me everything, I would still say “yes.” What good is everything without God?