By Jeff Long

There's a story told, the origins of which I'm not familiar. It's one of those tales that has been difficult to forget. Some things you hear and five minutes later struggle to remember any of the details. Others seem to cling to the mind's membranes, refusing to let go. This one is the latter. It goes like this:

A pastor of long service dies and goes to heaven. He passes the pearly gates and staggers up the steps toward Jesus, who is waiting at the top. The pastor has not yet put on his resurrection body. This, he assumes, will come later, yet he is surprised the transformation wasn't immediate. The pastor is weary, his legs heavy, just like they were before he died.

"Hello, pastor, and welcome," Jesus says.

"Thank you, Lord. It's great to be here. I've been waiting for this moment for -- well, what am I telling you? You know!"

Jesus encourages the pastor to sit down on the landing. "You look tired, pastor."

"I am! The book of Revelation says in heaven there is no more crying or pain or sickness. You'll forgive me, but every step I take, I hurt. What gives, Lord?"

"Your transformation is coming; don't worry. What I promise, I deliver. We need to have a talk first, though."

"Of course, whatever you say."

"Pastor, tell me about your life."

"Well, surely, you know, Lord!"

"I want to hear you tell it."

"OK, then. I led churches for 40 years, all of them small, and none of them grew."

"And what did that feel like to you?"

"It felt like failure. It felt like pushing a huge boulder up a mountain. And I could never get that hunk of rock to move."

Jesus starts to smile. And the smile leads to a chuckle. The pastor is not amused.

"Listen, Lord, I'm not sure it's right for you to make fun of me."

"And that's not what I'm doing, truly. I wouldn't hurt you for anything in the world. I'm just so surprised, is all."

"Surprised at what?"

Taking the pastor's hands in his, Jesus looks into his eyes, and in a calm, steady voice, says: "I never asked you to move that boulder. I only asked you to push."

And with those words, lightness comes into the pastor's legs. He feels like a boy again.

His eyes, long into macular degeneration, clear immediately, and he sees with 20/20 vision. Hearing, reflexes, all perfect.

And the pastor understands why. He finally grasps what Jesus was trying to tell him -- and in that realization, the anxieties and fears of his life fall away, and with them go his infirmities.

The pastor turns to Jesus and says, "Yes, I see it now. My job was only to push because you're the only one who can make the boulder move."

"Yes, pastor, that's it. Enter now into the joy of your salvation."

I wish I'd heard that story long ago. At the risk of mixing metaphors, we're just instruments, all of us. Tools in the hands of the master craftsman.

We get discouraged when we overthink our role. From now on, I'm not overthinking mine.

One week to Christmas. Hold your loved ones close.