author - speaker - real bible loving gal
Making Contact
I love it when God makes contact with me. Now, I know, technically, He's in contact with me all of the time. But I crave those moments when God's touch is palpable, mind-blowing, and undeniable. That happened earlier this week. I'm praying through some tricky personal situations and God chose to answer me with Mark 5:25-34, a passage about a woman making contact with Jesus.
So Jesus went with him (the man whose daughter was sick). A large crowd followed and pressed around him. And a woman was there who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years. She had suffered a great deal under the care of many doctors and had spent all she had, yet instead of getting better she grew worse. When she heard about Jesus, she came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak, because she thought, "If I just touch his clothes, I will be healed." Immediately her bleeding stopped and she felt in her body that she was freed from her suffering. At once Jesus realized that power had gone out from him. He turned around in the crowd and asked, "Who touched my clothes?" "You see the people crowding against you," his disciples answered, "and yet you can ask, "Who touched me?'" But Jesus kept looking around to see who had done it. Then the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came and fell at his feet and, trembling with fear, told him the whole truth. He said to her, "Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering." (Mark 5:24-34)
It's a familiar passage to me, one I've probably read a hundred times, so I was surprised when it all but levitated off of the pages of my Bible the other day. I couldn't ignore it or move past it - like the Holy Spirit took my face in His hands, pointed at it and said "There! Read there!" Maybe you've had that happen to you, too. It's not immediately obvious to me how it applies to my specific situations. But as I've been praying it through, I learned some new things along the way that I'd love to share. Allow me to make some observations.
The woman in this passage suffered for a long time and all of the world's solutions failed her. In her culture, her bleeding made her "unclean" and unable to worship at the Temple. And since her society was largely centered around religion, her unclean status would have made her entire life very hard. That's why she was willing to go through so much to try to get better. She spent all her money on doctors, looking for solutions to her problems. She had probably tried all of the crazy - even painful - things anyone suggested, anything that held out a small hope of working.
I know that kind of desperation. Many of you know that I struggle with my weight. I've been tempted by all kinds of diets, pills, exercise plans, and fasts - some of them expensive. Maybe you've been struggling with a job, marriage troubles, health issues, kids or whatever. If you've been wrestling with it long enough, I bet you've been tempted the same way with self-help books and all kinds of solutions that the world has to offer. Some of them may have been extreme and maybe even painful. All of them have failed us. Which is where Jesus comes along.
The woman pressed through the crowd to get to Jesus. Oh yeah. I get that. My life is incredibly crowded most of the time. Obligations and demands on my time try to crowd me away from Jesus all of the time. Your list is probably not that different from mine. Family, work, friends, the occasional crisis, the constant laundry, the long to-do list, maybe even eating and sleeping. Some days it feels like getting to Jesus is as hard as braving the Wal-Mart crowd on tax-free Saturday. And yet, if I could just get close enough to touch Him....maybe, just maybe....
The woman just wanted to touch Jesus and then sneak away, but Jesus had another plan. That's me a lot of the time, too. Just give me a little touch of Jesus, just enough to fix whatever is wrong with me and let me slip back into my life. No need for a fuss. No need to make a big deal out of it. Just a touch of His cloak and He and I can go back to whatever we were doing.
Don't get me wrong. I admire this woman's faith. She knew where to go to finally get the help she needed. She had the tenacity to press through the crowd. And she had enough faith to know that just touching the corner of His robe was more than enough to give her the healing she needed. Maybe she was so embarrassed and humiliated by her condition that she didn't think He would stop to give her more attention. Maybe she didn't think she was important enough to warrant a proper appointment with Him. But maybe she was hoping to keep the whole thing a secret.
Jesus is not satisfied with being used for His power. He wants to give us way more of Himself than that. After the woman touches Jesus and tries to sneak away, Jesus stops and insists on knowing who touched Him got healed. Think about that for a second. Jesus stops in His tracks, looks around and asks who touched Him - AS IF HE DIDN'T KNOW! He is God after all. It reminds me a little bit of God walking in the Garden of Eden when Adam and Eve where hiding from Him. "Where are you?" He called out. Like a parent playing hide and seek with the child "hiding" behind the curtains.
The woman is forced to make a choice. Come forward into God's presence, or run as fast as she can the other way. No more sneaking around. No half-hearted measures. No sitting on the fence. She's either in all the way with Jesus, or she's out.
The woman chooses to be in. She falls at His feet and lays the whole story out for everyone to see. I'm sure she was terrified, embarrassed, and miserable in that moment. But at least three wonderful things happened. First, the woman was acknowledged by Jesus as worthy of His attention, even though the rest of the world considered her "unclean." Second, everyone knew that Jesus' power healed where all of men's efforts had failed. And third, Jesus declared that the woman's faith had made her a "daughter" of God.
I could go on for days about any one of these three things. But I hope you see the point. Making contact with God isn't a sneak-around kind of thing. It's not supposed to be, anyway. God doesn't intend to have us creeping in from the edges, getting whatever we need from Him and then crawling back to our everyday lives. When we go public with our interactions with the divine, amazing and wonderful things happen.
So as I continue to press through and reach for Him, I'm banking on a belief that one touch from Him will bring healing to all of the situations I've been wrestling with - my own bleeding wounds, if you will. And when He chooses to heal me, I hope I'm prepared to go public with the moment that God made contact with me. I'm all in, or at least I want to be. We'll have to wait and see if I'm brave enough in the moment to actually spill my guts at the feet of my Savior.
All this to say that making contact with God is no trifling matter. It's a powerful, amazing thing, when you think about it. We believers may take it for granted, but God doesn't intend us to. Instead, at least in this case, He intends for us to go public. Yes, He has power to heal all of our deep bleeding wounds. But then He wants us to share that power and give Him the credit - the glory - for what He has done in our lives. Oh, and He loves to call us "daughter" or "son," too. He doesn't give us the option of being secret believers. He wants us to be brave enough to go public, even if it's embarrassing and uncomfortable.
Are you willing to be brave?
Please remind me...
God has blessed me with many things, but grace and coordination are not among them. I've known this since I was young. I tried to water ski, and I hurt myself. I tried to snow ski, and I hurt myself. I went hiking instead of rock climbing (smart choice), and I fell into a cactus and hurt myself. I went climbing on some rocks at Perdenales State Park (not as smart a choice), fell and broke my arm, a.k.a. hurt myself. And yet, for some reason all of this escaped my mind when afforded an opportunity to go ice skating this weekend. I'll be careful, I thought. I could use the exercise, I thought. I can handle this, I thought. And then I fell. And I hurt myself. And only after nursing a bruised head and sprained elbow, THEN I remembered that I am a clutz.
Just because ice cream is available does not mean that I am the one who is supposed to eat it. That goes for chocolate, apple pie, french fries, and Frosted Mini Wheats, too. Where those frosted wheat bits and milk are, there you will find me. For some reason, there is a place in my brain that believes the world will crumble if I do not consume such wonders immediately. I don't even need to be hungry. A mere awareness of their presence is enough. These beautiful foods are gifts of God - but not just for me. I CAN share. I CAN have just a little now and a little later. I CAN wait until I'm actually hungry. I do not have to eat the whole box RIGHT NOW.
If I haven't updated my Facebook status today, that doesn't mean I don't exist. Most evenings I log in to see what's going on in my circle of family and friends. I scroll through the photos, announcements, and clever quotes, enjoying even this frail connection with the world outside. Then I look at the link at the top that says "What's on your mind?" And I go blank. There's nothing on my mind. Then I start to panic. Have I lost my mind? Did it slip away when I wasn't noticing? Has nothing happened at all today that is status update worthy? Is my life really that boring? Do I HAVE a life? Okay...deep breaths....oh yeah, social networking is not the real world. Thanks for the reminder.
No one's life will end if I don't check off all of the things on my to-do list today. In fact, no one will probably care. It's not that the work I do isn't important. It is. But so is eating and sleeping and my family and my sanity. Putting something in pen and ink on paper doesn't equate a contract signed in blood. Some things can wait until tomorrow. But....but...but....it's on the LIST!!!
Despite all of the above, God loves me anyway. In fact, the Bible says He's crazy about me. Me? Yeah... "enthralled with [my] beauty" in fact (Psalm 45:11). Thank you, Angela Thomas, for the reminder. I don't feel very beautiful very often. I sometimes don't feel very lovable either. Yet God's word stands as truth, regardless of what I feel. The Scriptures sit in my hands, ready to affirm all of His heart and his purposes in loving me with this crazy, absurd, unbelievable love. It's just that sometimes, I forget.
So what do you need to be reminded of?
My house needs to go on a diet
My house is fat.
The realization first dawned on me about a month ago. I finally cleared away time and energy to get out my Christmas decorations. And I barely had room to properly display all of my favorite bits and baubles. Two nativity scenes didn't make the cut - there simply was no place to put them. I have an entire box of decorations that went back on the shelf in the garage untouched. No room FOR the inn, let alone the holy family in the stable next door. It was a sad day.
My next clue came when I began preparing my guest room for family to arrive. At my house, the guest room is on the first floor, just off of our sun room/office with easy access from the kitchen and main living areas of the house. Which means that when I'm straightening up the main areas, I will often grab things, chuck them onto the guest room bed, and shut the door. Think of it as Spanx for the downstairs. Over time, the stacks of boxes, bags, odds and ends had piled up in every corner. Add to that the clutter from a kid's project or two and you can imagine the mess. But the disarray wasn't the problem. It was the five large trash bags of junk that I pulled out that alarmed me. FIVE??? What was I doing keeping all of that stuff in my house?
Now that family has come and gone, I've had a few days to assess my home's curves and bumps. We have plenty of space. And we also have crammed into that space way more than we need. Isn't that the definition of being fat? Taking in more than we use? Hauling around more weight than we should?
I suppose it's time to put my home on a diet. Time to carefully consider what comes in the door to stay. Time to exercise off some of the excess that I've collected over the years. Just like getting my body in shape, it will take time, persistence, self-control, and dedication. With a little bit of work each day, I believe I can make a change for the better health of my home. I'm at least willing to try.
So in 2012, my annual re-dedication to healthy living will include my living areas as well as my body. I want to limit my intake of sugar AND shopping. I want to move my muscles AND move some stuff to the curb. I'd like to look better physically AND have my house less cluttered, too.
What about you? Does your home need to go on a diet?
Waking up worshipping
On Saturday morning, I had that luxury. But I didn't do it. Instead I woke up worshiping God. No kidding. It's never happened to me before.
Last week was one of the two busiest weeks of my ministry year. We had a Women's Christmas Dinner on Friday night, serving about 265 women. It's a huge endeavor, and I have a wonderful team helping me. But I was exhausted when it was all over with. And I was looking forward to a long sleep-in on Saturday morning. I went to bed thrilled with all that had happened, how God had shown up and ministered to the women. And I woke up with Him on my mind and pervading the air in my room.
Instead of lolly-gagging in bed, I popped awake and was already praying before my mind was fully alert. My body was sore, but I dragged it down to the couch anyway. Instead of turning on the TV and easing into the day, I reached for my Bible. The mere thought of doing anything but talking to God and reading Scripture was simply unappealing.
I don't know if that happens to anyone else, but I can't recall it ever happening to me before. I don't think it had anything to do with me or how spiritual I am these days. I think it had everything to do with God showing up at the dinner and then invading my morning with an extra dose of Him. For more than an hour, I prayed, read the Bible, and "wasted time" with God.
I'd love to have that happen more often. I'd love to say that my heart is naturally inclined to spend time with God first thing in the morning. More often, my heart is inclined to mump and grump and grouse about cold bathroom floors and bad hair days. The only explanation for my unusual wake-up call Saturday is the invasion of an unusually gracious God pursuing me.
Now I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I don't have to do spiritual calisthenics to manufacture a sense of God's presence. I don't have to cajole or beg or plead with Him for a moment of His gracious attention. No, I was dead to the world when He showed up in my bedroom and my brain. I didn't so much as give Him a "Hello how are You?" before He wrapped me up in a fluffy blanket of joy. Even now, I'm a little misty-eyed to think that He loves me and wants to be with me so much that He would wake me up to the fragrance of His Spirit. I'm not even sure I can totally put words around it. All I know is that I want more.
Have you ever woken up worshiping?
Playing with rocks
Sounds fun, huh?
Actually it was. We were working with the Austin Disaster Relief Network to help a family who had suffered great loss in the wildfires back in September. This family owned an 87-acre zip-line and wildlife center. 86 acres had burned. God's mercy saved their house, but not much else. What was once a lush landscape of oaks, cedars, and all kinds of grasses and vegetation for their herd of bison now looks like something out of a spooky movie. All you could see were tall, black, charred remains of trees, soot-colored soil, and rocks. Lots of rocks.
The property had been beautiful, I'm sure. The land had a couple of springs and ravines that would have been breath-taking, particularly if you were hanging from one of the many lines in the canopy above. I can't imagine waking up to the contrast every single day, like those home owners do. Heart-breaking. It's going to be years before it recovers. We were there to help it along.
The danger now is erosion. All of the vegetation that used to slow the runoff into the creek and ravines is gone. There's plenty of rich topsoil, but nothing at all to keep the rain from washing it all down the creek and clogging it up. So we collected rocks by the wheel-barrow load and began building berms and dams and blockades to trap the soil and keep it on higher ground.
All of this work had to be done by hand. Large machines on the property would compact the soil and crush any seeds that are taking root. As I searched for loose rocks large enough to be hard for water to move but small enough to be manageable, I could see hundreds of blue bonnet plants coming up from the black soil. There were small patches of grass and clover, encouraged by the fall showers that we've had. But these were tiny fragile things. The thought of a bulldozer trampling these signs of life was unbearable.
And so my husband, my children and I worked with others from our church and moved hundreds of pounds of rock. The property owner worked side by side with us, directing our efforts, and pulling fallen branches and trees into long lines to help slow down any water coming down the hillside. By three in the afternoon, we were all tired and sore. Our faces were smudged in black, our clothes filthy and we stank to high heaven. But a berm protecting the homestead and a three-foot high dam at the head of a ravine stood as proud monuments to our efforts.
The owner had tears in her eyes as we prayed with her to close the day. We hugged her and each other in satisfaction for the hours of hard labor. And as my family and I drove away, I looked back over the property and sighed. I prayed that the rocks exposed by fire would serve well in their new locations. Though the land was scarred beyond belief, what was uncovered was exactly what was needed. With the help of many hands, the owner could now have hope in the recovery of her little corner of paradise.
Have you been ravaged by a fire of one kind or another? Maybe not a physical fire, but something far more intense and devastating - betrayal,financial ruin, bad news from the doctor. What rocks have been exposed that are now available to shore up the weak areas and help you in the recovery? Perhaps all you need are some extra hands to come move things around and build up your defenses as you rest and recover. And with that help, Lord willing, someday you will be lush and beautiful again....maybe even more than you ever were. That's my prayer.
What's in a name?
Then there was the kicker named Succop. Doesn't look so bad until you say it out loud. The on-air commentators, after saying it a few times - "suck-up" - observed that had to grow up knowing how to fight. Not the best name for a professional football player, kicker or otherwise.
Names have always fascinated me. They shape our growing up years and impact our personalities, whether our parents believe it or not. My college friend named Plymouth Rock... and yes, that is his given name... can attest to it. What were his parents thinking? Were they trying to be cute? Did they consider the impact such a name would have on their son? He had to deal with the teasing all of his growing up and adult life. Surely that impacted how he developed and what he thought of himself as he navigated the jokes and questioning looks at every introduction. I would have changed my name for sure.
Which is interesting, because I did exactly that. My given name is Laura. Not a bad name at all. In fact, it follows a family pattern, giving me connection to generations behind me. My grandmother's name was Leola - five letters, begins with an "l", ends with an "a". I share her middle name - Katherine. So my birth name is Laura Katherine. I continued that pattern in naming my daughter, Liana. My issue with my first name came up in junior high school when I was one of five Lauras in my class. Way too confusing. Plus, I was feeling rebellious. So I changed to my middle name, which later got shorted to Kat. It only took nine years for my parents to figure out that I was serious. I think it was printing my wedding invitations under the name Katherine that did it.
Knowing how important names have been to me and others that I know, my husband and I took a great deal of care in naming our children. Not only does Liana's name follow the family pattern on my side, but her name means "vine" in Latin. It reminds us of John 15:5 where Jesus says "I am the vine and you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit. Apart from me, you can do nothing." We want our daughter to always know that she depends on her Lord always - it's part of her identity.
For our son, Devin, we chose an Irish name as a tribute to his dad's heritage. It means "poet" and harkens back to a day when poets were also warriors. It reminds us of King David, the man after God's own heart, a warrior for God's people and the most prolific poet in Scripture. Being after God's heart, strong and tender at the same time is our dream for our boy. So we wrapped up his name and identity in that.
The Hebrews were great about naming their children as a way of memorializing some characteristic or great moment associated with their birth. Samuel means "asked of God" and honors the Lord who gave Hannah a child after so much waiting. Rachel and Leah had a field day with their boys' names, naming each of them after the emotions and desires they had with each one. Names like Rueben (behold a son!), Simeon (hearing), Levi (joined), Judah (confessor) and Joseph (added) all reflect various stages in the rivalry between the two sisters as the tribes of Israel were born.
Sometimes that practice got a little weird, though. I'm not sure I would name my children Mahlon (pining) and Kilion (sickness) like Naomi did, no matter how bad the famine of the time was. Seems like you're destining your child to tough times, maybe like Whimper or Succop or Plymouth Rock. I think I'm more of an optimist than Naomi.
So how wonderful is it that God gives us the name Christian? It means "little Christ" quite literally. Our identity wrapped up in Him and representing Him to a messed up world. It's a name I don't live up to nearly as often as I'd like. I choose instead to name myself, just like I did in junior high. And the names I choose aren't nearly so pretty, like "selfish" or "driven" or "fearful." Even other names like Mom or Wife are incomplete as identities for me, and I often long to be something more (or sometimes less!) But God calls me His child, a little chip off the ol' block, a Christian. A name that continually calls me higher. Kinda cool.
So what's your name? What does it say about you and how does it shape who you are?
A Halloween Rant
I know a lot of folks love Halloween. I used to. I enjoyed dressing up and trick-or-treating as a kid. My children have enjoyed their annual costumes (this is our first year without them - another sign that they're growing up) and fall festivals at the church. So I'm not knocking my friends and neighbors who are looking forward to some good clean fun tomorrow night.
What appalls me is the complete disregard for decency that some folks have regarding this particular holiday. For example, the "House of Torment" billboard on southbound Hwy 183 that my kids can't even look at. The first time I saw it, I felt physically ill, it was so graphic. Or how about the house in my neighborhood on my way to the grocery store that has more zombies and bloody skeletons coming up from their lawn than grass? Or the horror movie trailers that pop up on TV so regularly that I have keep my finger on the channel button to keep my kids from having nightmares.
The horror part of Halloween has been around forever, I know, but I remember having to go to a haunted house or someplace like that to get a good gross out or scare. For the more sensitive folks - like my son - who can't handle it, all you have to do is avoid the haunted house. But these days, I can't drive down the road without telling my kids when they can open their eyes. So I'm ready for the Halloween grossness to go away.
When did it become okay to be graphically obscene in public this time of year? When did Halloween lose the fun in favor of the frightful? Am I just more sensitive now that I'm a mom, or have things really gotten worse?
I don't have any solutions - just frustrations. It's the ugly side of the world my family and I live in and we're going to have to learn to cope somehow. But at this time of year, I wonder what God thinks as He looks down on our billboards, television programming and party stores. I wonder that He doesn't zap us all where we stand.
Truth be told, when it comes to the holiness of God, as ugly as some of the Halloween stuff is, we're not that much further away from Him than any other time of year. That is to say, we're so far away from God's holiness and perfection that this annual backslide is miniscule by comparison. The depravity of man is just more obvious to me in October. And I don't like it. Now that it's come to the surface and the store fronts, I can't avoid it. Perhaps a better response from me, then, is prayer. And so I pray for my city, my culture, my nation. I should be praying all of the time for these things, for God to forgive our ugliness and our fascination with all things not Him. But it's only at this time of year that I'm really bothered enough by it all to do it.
Hmmm....maybe that's the good thing about Halloween for me. A call to prayer that's too loud for me to ignore. A way to celebrate God's power this time of year by falling on His grace, forgiveness, and begging Him for transformation. And, as usual, all of that has to start with me. Lord, change me to be a willing intercessor for my culture that is so far from honoring You!
OK...rant over. What do you think about Halloween?
Motion Sensors
Some of the motion sensors in the office are more sensitive than others, I've noticed. I was in the building late last week after a meeting, tying up a few loose ends. Most of the doors were closed as I made my way down the hall towards my little corner. My office light clicked on after I made it two steps into the room. Very convenient. But as I was walking out for the night, I noticed that one or two other office lights came on as I passed by. Even with the door closed. It felt a little eerie, actually, but I marveled at the fine-tuning of those sensors, catching the slightest breeze of my feet passing by through the gap at the bottom of the door.
I would like to be that sensitive, in some ways. One specific way, in fact. What if I were so sensitive to the motions of God that I just flicked on like a light switch every time He moved in my vicinity? Ready for action. Ready to serve. Ready to shine at the slightest breath of a move of the Spirit. That would be cool.
I find that I'm a lot more like the motion sensor switch in my own office, though. God walks boldly into my world a step or two before I notice that He's there. It takes more effort on His part to get my attention. He's gracious and patient with me, and knows that I work that way, and I'm grateful. He takes the time to step into my space and talk to me, lead me, let me in on what He's up to and invite me to join Him.
But I'd like to be a little more sensitive to His movements. Maybe light up like a big bright florescent bulb when He's approaching and ready to do whatever is next on His agenda. To shine out in my corner anytime He's on the move anywhere near me. Even before He's fully revealed His plan, I want to light up with anticipation and expectation That's what I'm praying for.
I haven't a clue how to adjust the motion sensor on my light switch. I didn't install it in the first place and I don't have the tools to tweak it. But I know Who does. And I think He's just waiting for me to ask.
Are you sensitive to God's movements in your life? Would you ask Him to fine-tune your sensors?
Head Knowledge
Devin first gave his life over to God when he was three. A teacher in his Sunday School class showed him on a wipe-erase board that his heart was black, but God could come in and make it white and clean. He wanted some of that and he hasn't looked back, and he's been begging to be baptized ever since. But it took him another six years to understand in his head what his heart already knew. Which is why we put him off for so long.
Up until recently, my son thought being baptized would make him more of a Christian. He thought that God would love him more if he got baptized. It was up to his father and me to teach him the truth. Imagine the long-term effects if we allowed him to continue in a works-based outlook on life. He'd end up where I so often am, struggling and comparing and performing my circus act to earn points with God. I've felt the pain of living in that place. I want better than that for my boy.
How important, then, that I know what is true! How can I teach my son that his relationship with God doesn't depend on works - not even getting dunked in front of the congregation - if I don't know it for myself? I have to learn about God's grace and about being obedient out of love and not under duress. Only when I train my own brain can I train up my children in the way they should go. But it doesn't just happen - it takes intentional effort.
Over and over in Scripture, God is clear that we control what goes into our heads, while He's got the job of molding and shaping hearts. We take our thoughts captive (2 Corinthians 10:5), test our thinking (Philippians 4:8), and are transformed by what's in our heads (Romans 12:2). At the same time, God gives us hearts of flesh and not of stone (Ezekiel 11:19), and He cleanses and purifies us (1 John 1:7). As a mom, then, I'm learning that it's my job to feed my brain and my boy's brain with the truth of God, and God's job to use that to shape both of our hearts. I can trust Him with that job, but I am called to do my part.
This is why being a "mom after God's own heart" starts with me. This is why I have to immerse myself in everything that is Him so that I can teach my kids and point them in the right direction and not the wrong one. Without having the truth for myself, my heart may be right, but my children and I can end up in exactly the wrong place.
So...what truths has God taught you that you can teach your children today?
A Love-Hate Relationship with Grace
I admit it. I have a love-hate relationship with grace. I've been wrestling with it for a while now. I want to just love, love, love God's grace all of the time. It's so much of who He is! But I have to confess that my heart is divided.
Grace is one of those things I'm so very glad is available to me, and I'm so very disappointed in myself for needing. I feel the same way about other things, like "corrective undergarments" for example. Really glad I can get 'em....really wish I didn't need 'em.
I completely understand that without the grace of God I would be totally lost. Ephesians 2:8 makes it clear: "For it is by grace that you have been saved, through faith - and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God..." But now that my salvation is secure, I find that I need God's grace all the more. I need His gospel-centered, freely given, unconditional grace to make it through an hour without getting zapped into a charcoal briquette by His holiness.
I really wish I didn't. I really wish that I were a better person, that my thoughts were pure, that my motives were pure, that my habits were pure. But they're not.
I wish that I was so progressing in my sanctification that I need God's grace less today than I did nineteen years ago when I first believed. But I don't. And I hate that. My pride hates that I can't fix these things, and my finite humanity imagines that God tires of extending grace to me over and over again. I certainly would have given up on me a long time ago.
But God LOVES extending grace! When God reveals His glory to Moses in Exodus 34, He can say whatever He wants to say about Himself, and He chooses to proclaim, "The LORD, the LORD, the compassionate and gracious God...." Before His justice, before His holiness, before His wrath, God proclaims His grace. And He continues to proclaim it in me.
O, stubborn pride of mine! How I long for you to be swallowed up in the immense grace of God! How I yearn to be free of your petty desires to "do it on my own" and be self-sufficient!
So while I struggle with this love-hate relationship with grace, I find that I need His grace to struggle on. I cry out with the Apostle Paul, "What a wretched person I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God - through Jesus Christ our Lord!"
Do you have a love-hate relationship with God's grace?
