I know what Paul meant when he said that he does that which he does not want to do, that he can’t seem to do the thing he wants.
I love Jesus. This sounds really simple and quite juvenile, but it’s true. I love Jesus. However, the past ten years or so have provided plenty of fertile ground for callous to grow. This leaves me feeling like I don’t love Jesus the way I know I should. I don’t know what to do about it, though. That is, I don’t know how to do the thing I know I should do. I feel really dry. I feel really tired. It seems I’ve been passively fighting for a lot of years, and passivism is the stuff that really tears you down. Because instead of letting anyone know about this struggle, you take out all your frustrations on yourself. This can begin to make you miserable.
I forget about Jesus sometimes. This is horrible when I say it. When I admit that I forget about the guy that died on two splintery pieces of wood to rescue my ugly soul from eternal death, I sound like one of the worst people I know. I also sound like a very honest person. I’m going to guess that more people feel this way than any of us knows about. But the point is: I forget. I forget more than I should. And I have no idea how I do this. How do I forget Jesus?
Creatures of comfort, that’s what we are. I enjoy being comfortable, but I am deathly afraid of mediocrity. And I get nervous when I feel like that’s where I’m heading. Well, I’m nervous. I’m afraid that forgetting Jesus has more to do with becoming comfortable than it does with losing my mind.
I do a lot of reminiscing about times when I could honestly feel Jesus holding my hand. He was so real to me. He was all I really cared about. Something happened, though. I still know He’s real, but I adopt a lot more cares these days. These crowd Him out. I wish I could feel it again. I wish I wanted it badly enough to devote time to it when I’m not falling asleep - - like right now.
A sporadic Bible reader. Half-hearted prayer wimp. Limit-inflicting believer. I’m all of these things. I’m no good at all, and, still, Jesus loves me. I could never know a fraction of the sheer bliss He gleans from my existence - - even if I remembered Him ALL the time. I can never know it, but I would like to get back to a place where I can come close, a place closer than this.
Father, Creator, Friend…reach in and grab the deepest parts of me. Search them out, and bring them to a place of healing. Allow me the freedom to mess up, and bless me with the grace You promise when I do. Let the dead things in me burn. Let the Living Seeds grow and extend and consume. And let their roots vein far beyond the reach of any fleshly seduction. Touch my soul, allowing me to feel Your hand again…reminding me daily of your existence and participation in my life, even unto the most mundane task.
I love Jesus. This sounds really simple and quite juvenile, but it’s true. I love Jesus. However, the past ten years or so have provided plenty of fertile ground for callous to grow. This leaves me feeling like I don’t love Jesus the way I know I should. I don’t know what to do about it, though. That is, I don’t know how to do the thing I know I should do. I feel really dry. I feel really tired. It seems I’ve been passively fighting for a lot of years, and passivism is the stuff that really tears you down. Because instead of letting anyone know about this struggle, you take out all your frustrations on yourself. This can begin to make you miserable.
I forget about Jesus sometimes. This is horrible when I say it. When I admit that I forget about the guy that died on two splintery pieces of wood to rescue my ugly soul from eternal death, I sound like one of the worst people I know. I also sound like a very honest person. I’m going to guess that more people feel this way than any of us knows about. But the point is: I forget. I forget more than I should. And I have no idea how I do this. How do I forget Jesus?
Creatures of comfort, that’s what we are. I enjoy being comfortable, but I am deathly afraid of mediocrity. And I get nervous when I feel like that’s where I’m heading. Well, I’m nervous. I’m afraid that forgetting Jesus has more to do with becoming comfortable than it does with losing my mind.
I do a lot of reminiscing about times when I could honestly feel Jesus holding my hand. He was so real to me. He was all I really cared about. Something happened, though. I still know He’s real, but I adopt a lot more cares these days. These crowd Him out. I wish I could feel it again. I wish I wanted it badly enough to devote time to it when I’m not falling asleep - - like right now.
A sporadic Bible reader. Half-hearted prayer wimp. Limit-inflicting believer. I’m all of these things. I’m no good at all, and, still, Jesus loves me. I could never know a fraction of the sheer bliss He gleans from my existence - - even if I remembered Him ALL the time. I can never know it, but I would like to get back to a place where I can come close, a place closer than this.
Father, Creator, Friend…reach in and grab the deepest parts of me. Search them out, and bring them to a place of healing. Allow me the freedom to mess up, and bless me with the grace You promise when I do. Let the dead things in me burn. Let the Living Seeds grow and extend and consume. And let their roots vein far beyond the reach of any fleshly seduction. Touch my soul, allowing me to feel Your hand again…reminding me daily of your existence and participation in my life, even unto the most mundane task.
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