When I was hired to join InterVarsity staff, I received a copy of Return of the Prodigal Son by Henri Nouwen. The book is a result of the author’s reflections on the famous Rembrandt painting where the lost son with tattered clothes finally returns on his knees into the safe embrace of his father. I connected with so much of the book—what it feels like to be lost, what it feels like to come to my senses—except for the core image itself: being held by the Father. I couldn’t relate to that degree of intimacy and security.

Gradually, I began to see the consequences of not knowing the safety of God for so long in my life. In practical terms, I realized how intensely independent I am, and how much I take care of myself. I don’t expect to receive much from God, only to work hard for the kingdom. So my life has often abounded with activity as I look out for my own needs and attempt to control my world, all while I essentially consider God too distant and too busy to concern himself with me and my little affairs.

As I struggled to measure how my ministry was doing, I found myself only able to return to how my relationship with God was doing. As my Christian faith compelled me to dream even bigger dreams for my students and for Harvard, I saw how little I could do and how much God needed to come through. As I attempted to make the little I could do as productive as possible, I found myself driven to prayer. And as I sought after all these things, I found myself resting more than I ever have in my life. Now I take regular Sabbath days for rest and reflection, and it still shocks me that I do. As I made these subtle changes, I was being pulled into the very heart of God himself.

Most challenging has been the daily process of dying to myself: this new life feels so contrary to what I’m used to that I feel engaged in a constant internal conflict. When there are sweet moments of insight into what God is doing, I sit in awe of God and wonder why I should have the privilege of seeing what I see.