So here I am God, back again today writing about my offenses
toward you. How arrogant that sounds,
perhaps I should revise that to say I have issues with my life. Or let’s just get down to the heart of
it. I feel like a kicking, angry two year
old who, after sincerely praying for your will, hasn’t gotten what she thought would’ve
been the most profitable of short term solutions. Problem is, I only see short term, and you, ‘ol Wise One, see through to a much grander future than I can even conceive
of. One that, oh my gosh, might not even
have “yours truly” at the center of it all.
So this pouting two year old is left with a choice to trust you or not.
That’s what it really comes down to, God, do I trust
you? Will I be satisfied with your
responses to my prayers regardless? Do I
really want to follow you -- your not so popular, not so sparkly, follow me no
matter what, will?
I can say I’ll be content, Lord, whatever you put or don’t
put before me. But logging on to
Facebook, the site where all good things are displayed, I tend to feel less
thankful and more jealous. Summers are
the worst God, and if I’m not careful I fall into the dangerous game of
comparison. That deadly game always brings me down, making me feel less than
the best and brightest, always lacking in the consumable blessings department. I lose perspective of my intangible, obscure,
less glitzy blessings that I know are truly priceless.
And writing Lord, back to the business of honoring you
through words, I have some “issues” about
this that I need to discuss too.
I’ve tried to be brave.
Really I have tried to keep getting back up to face life or back on my
knees to beg for your courage and strength.
I’ve tried to record those things that would be uplifting to others, as
a testimony to your grace and mercy. Although,
we both know you’ve sat alongside me as I’ve privately recorded things that will
forever remain just that. Because publishing
words, only after the grit and grime have been wrung out is much more presentable
and palatable. Plus it keeps me looking
cleaner to write after the burn of
shame has worn off enough for me to proclaim a higher message.
I just want to be pleasing to you Father, but I’m still such a work in progress.
The more you reveal to me about the “issues” that need adjusting, the
more I feel as if I’m in the perpetual Mush Pot…that place where I go to
develop character that rarely comes without your admonishment and my sacrifice.
The Mush Pot, not designed to be fun, but a place of…let’s just say revealing,
exfoliating, and sometimes excruciating exposure of the most tarnished parts of
me.
That’s it God. I want
so badly to shine untarnished, reflecting only you…and then
write about it. But, ask me to write
while I’m in the Mush Pot? Like
yesterday’s writing, it’s not a pretty sight to behold. And it’s humbling. Don’t
ask me to keep sharing what it feels like to be pruned down to a bare, vulnerable
stalk with weeping wounds.
Unless...I’m wondering if ‘being in the
trenches’ with my nephews, with other wounded, beaten-down souls, doesn’t involve me recording grit and grime in the middle of my own battles. Maybe you’ve
called me to the less pleasant role of recording my Mush Pot transformation. And
just maybe you’ll fashion a sling-shot worthy, Goliath flattening weapon, suited to launch my own
not so smooth, in the middle of being refined, stones.
I love you, Lord, and just ask that no matter what you place
in my life, you’ll use it to bring honor to you.
There, now how’s that for a happy ending for today:)
I’ll see what tomorrow brings…
No comments:
Post a Comment