I was reading some C. S. Lewis recently, and one of his thoughts convicted me a little bit. He was writing about morality and society, and he used the picture of ships at sea. His basic point was this: what good is it to give ships perfect instructions about how to avoid running into one another if the ships themselves are in such bad condition that they cannot be steered?

Lewis was talking about society, laws, and human behavior, but I could not help thinking about some of the relationships in my own life.

I started thinking about how much time and energy I have spent trying to arrange the circumstances around another person. I have explained. I have encouraged. I have given second chances. I have established expectations and put boundaries in place. Sometimes I have tried being softer. Other times I have become firmer. I have prayed, talked, waited, and probably talked some more.

Somewhere along the way, I think I began believing that if I could just get enough of those things right, maybe the person would finally change.

I know I have lived that way.

I have believed that if I loved someone harder, explained myself more clearly, showed a little more patience, gave another chance, or somehow found exactly the right words at exactly the right time, I might finally help them see what I could see.

That is an exhausting way to live.

It also assumes I have far more power over another human heart than I actually do.

Maybe one of the great mistakes I have made in relationships is believing that if I can arrange the circumstances correctly, I can somehow produce the person I hope someone will become. But transformation does not work from the outside in. God does His deepest work from the inside out.

That is where Lewis’s thought really began to bother me.

Lewis was not saying that structure does not matter. It does. Expectations matter. Accountability matters. Boundaries matter. The way I structure a relationship matters. But even the best structure cannot make another person honest. A rule cannot create humility. A boundary cannot manufacture character. A consequence may change someone’s behavior, but it cannot reach inside of them and change what they want.

Someone can behave differently around me without actually becoming different.

That was hard for me to admit.

I can mistake different behavior for a different heart because I desperately want the two to be the same. I want the conversation to have worked. I want the boundary to have taught something. I want the consequence to have produced maturity. I want the pain to have meant something.

Sometimes it does. Sometimes it does not.

And I am beginning to understand that I cannot be responsible for which one it becomes.

That gets especially difficult when I love the person, because hope is so very powerful. I can see who someone could become. I can see their potential. I can imagine what the relationship could look like if only a few things changed.

If I am not careful, I can begin relating to the person I hope they will someday become instead of honestly seeing the person standing in front of me today.

Telling myself, someday they will see it. Someday they will mature. Someday they will understand. Someday things will be different.

Maybe they will.

I know that people can change. I have watched God change many people. More importantly, I have watched Him make huge changes in me. So this is not about giving up on somebody. It is about becoming honest with myself about who actually does the changing.

I know now that I cannot change another human being.

I can love them. I can tell them the truth. I can pray for them. I can establish boundaries. I can forgive them. I may even become one of the people God uses in their life.

But I cannot do the work inside of them. That deeper work belongs between them and God.

And there is another part of this that is even harder for me to admit because it has happened to me. Sometimes while I am waiting for someone else to change, I begin changing myself.

Not because God is shaping me into somebody better, but because I am trying to keep the relationship intact, sometimes mistaking my enablement for compassion.

I can become quieter because I do not want to upset someone. I can lower expectations because maintaining them has become exhausting. I can excuse things I once knew were wrong. I can start questioning my own judgment. I can tell myself I am being gracious when I may actually be afraid of what will happen if I tell the truth.

That is why I have come to believe that hoping someone will change can become nearly as dangerous as changing myself just so I can remain close to them.

One asks them to become someone they are not yet willing to become. The other asks me to become someone I was never meant to be. And I do not think either one of these is a healthy definition of love.

Love does not require me to pretend poor or destructive behavior is acceptable. Grace does not mean the absence of boundaries. Forgiveness does not mean unlimited access to my life. And believing that God can change somebody does not mean I have to remain in the exact same place waiting for Him to do it.

Sometimes I may need to stay. Sometimes I may need to step away. Sometimes I may need to speak clearly. Sometimes I may need to stop talking long enough to allow consequences to say what my words apparently cannot. This can be incredibly difficult for me.

And the even harder question is whether what I am doing is actually love, or whether I am trying to manage another person’s heart because I am afraid of what might happen if I stop.

That question gets uncomfortable pretty quickly. And maybe that is exactly why Lewis’s words stayed with me.

It is much easier for me to see what needs to change in somebody else than it is to examine what needs to change in me. I can usually build a pretty convincing case for what another person needs to work on. I can see their patterns, their blind spots, their weaknesses, and probably come up with a few suggestions for how God could straighten them out.

But while I am studying them, God may actually be trying to get my attention.

Maybe maturity for me is learning the difference between loving someone and trying to save them.

I can love someone without assuming responsibility for their transformation. I can pray for them without trying to control God’s answer. I can hope for change without building my life around a future version of them that does not yet exist. And I can establish boundaries without pretending those boundaries have transformed the heart on the other side.

I think that is what those ships from Lewis keep bringing me back to.

Instructions matter. Direction matters. Boundaries matter. But eventually I reach the limits of what I can accomplish from the outside.

At some point, the deeper work has to happen within. And that work belongs to God.

Maybe freedom begins when I finally stop trying to do His job and start paying attention to the work He is trying to do in me.

Practice to Cultivate

So today, think about someone in your life you are hoping will change. Maybe you have prayed about them, reasoned with them, worried about them, or tried to arrange circumstances that might finally help them see what you see.

For a few minutes, surrender to God the responsibility for changing them that you may have been carrying. Ask yourself what is actually yours to carry, what belongs to them, and what belongs only to Him.

Then, instead of asking,

“God, when are You going to change them?”

have enough humility and courage to ask the more difficult question:

God, what are You trying to change in me?

Then be quiet long enough to hear the answer.

‘Well Rooted’ is a new column to the Great Bend Tribune written by Jeremy Elliott. Elliott owns a lawncare business and lives in the Great Bend area.