It only takes a few minutes to go ask a school police officer if it really is against the rules to climb trees. Forty five seconds if you’re running and he’s about 25 meters away. I was, and he was, and it was a quick letdown. The repercussions of my having chosen to ask lasted a bit longer.

The thing is, I really like to sit in trees, even though I’m not a big fan of climbing them. Being a bit afraid of heights, I don’t tend to get very high, because I tend to live on the cautious side. And when I say “cautious side,” I’m not just talking about staying within 10 feet of the ground in my arboreal endeavours. No, I’m the kind of person who pushes her hair in front of her face while taking an exam, just in case I accidentally- and I do mean accidentally- see my neighbor’s sheet. The kind of person who’d be dumb enough to ask if she could climb the trees- even though there weren’t any signs posted saying she couldn’t- and would then be forced to live with the answer.

I wasn’t always like this. Realizing it’d be dumb to ask, I mean. I’ve been a stickler for rules just about as long as I can remember, and living by the rules has sown a lot of fear into my life. When assured that I am living up to the rules, I feel safe, even self-righteous at times. It’s when the uncertainty hits that I fall into turmoil. I begin to envision all sorts of failures for myself. Sometimes, I’ll solve this by asking for clarification on a rule, but this often results in restrictions, and sometimes increases my fears, as I have to work even harder to obey. Other times, I remain in a place of uncertainty, terrified of failing myself, falling once away from God.

Except this attitude doesn’t line up with the way Jesus asked me to live. I’ve grown so accustomed to living in fear, to hiding myself in the rules, seeking to live by them, and find my value in upholding them. When I fail to do so, I’m devastated. It is this very fear that Christ sought to do away with when He removed the separation between us and God.

Perhaps you’ve heard that the phrase “fear not,” appears 365 times in the Bible, once for every day of the year. That’s probably true, I haven’t actually checked. Yet despite this pervasive command, I find fear so alluring. After all, what I am seeking is to do the right thing. How could the right thing possibly be wrong? Didn’t Jesus Himself say, “Be perfect, as your Heavenly Father is perfect?” (Matt. 5:48)

He did say that, and that phrase has troubled me for a long time. But Jesus also promised an easy yoke and a light burden (Matt. 11:28-30). In fact, He commanded us to bear this yoke. So how can the two commands: “Be perfect” and “ Take My yoke upon you” be honestly reconciled? Perhaps the latter half of Matt. 5:48 can be an indicator. The way we are to be perfect is as our Heavenly Father is. This is a familial relationship- not “be perfect, because I said so,” but “be perfect, just like your dad is.” Thus, the perfect we’re called to isn’t a taking up of our own yoke, and beating ourselves into perfection, but a partaking of the perfection of the heavenly family, and it can also (arguably) be considered a promise.

The Greek word for “be” in the verse is in the future tense. Certain scholars describe this mainly as an imperative, leading to the translation as a command, rather than as “you will be.” My Greek professor agrees but thinks it may simultaneously be a promise to God’s people. Plus, it’s is intended to be understood through the lens of grace.

Grace. Grace that says goodbye to the godlessness of godliness in my own power. Grace that does not leave me alone, but promises that God’s Spirit shall guide me. Grace that is not a question, not a wish on a dandelion, but a certainty. A certainty that means I can stop asking if I’m allowed to climb the trees, because my life isn’t about obeying the rules. It’s about walking with Jesus, abiding in Him the way a branch abides in the vine, producing leafy tendrils just perfect for climbing on, or swinging on...no questions asked.

Man’s first sin in the garden resulted from a question, a doubt: Maybe God was holding out on us. He wasn’t, and He has proved it, refusing to “hold out on us” even His own son; so that we could stop doubting, stop living in fear. So that we could walk with Him in the garden and climb the trees.

My point here isn’t the trees, and I don’t plan to use grace as an excuse to disobey rules. I do plan, though, to stop worrying and seeking out rules so that I live in even greater fear. And I trust I will, by the grace of God.