It used to bother me. Bother me terribly. To complete frustration. And agitation. Truly bother me. I would close the Book for the bother was so great.
" . . . because as He is, so are we in this world." 1 John 4:17
That "He" is Jesus. As Jesus is in this world, so am I. Oh my, that bothered me. Deeply. And profoundly. Bothered me.
For I knew deeply and profoundly that it was not so for me. I was nothing like He was or is in this world. I was far more like me in this world, then like Him. And yet again, I had failed. At another necessary benchmark, I had failed.
I was not Jesus in this world, I was me and I have sob stories from my sweet children that I have wounded over the years and hours upon hours recorded on the books spent in angry complaining to prove it. Oh maybe, I spoke the churchiness jargon well enough to keep the complaining to myself, but complain I did. And I knew Jesus did not complain. He did not complain about me or about my children or about the fact that suffering and sacrifice were His constant companion as He worked upon this soil. He never said, "After all I have sacrificed for you! This is how you treat me?! I gave up everything for you! I gave up heaven for you! And you reject me and turn from me and lie to me and steal from me and get ARRESTED! Come on! Seriously!" He had not said that. No, that was me that had thought that - on repeat. Minus the heaven part, I had not given up heaven but I would have told you I had given up everything short of heaven.
It so deeply bothered me, for I had so profoundly missed the mark.
And I began to use words such as "manage" and "handle" - I had failed at the work He has set before me and the exhaustion took me to a place where the lost just need to be "managed." And I knew that Jesus had never "managed" a soul on this planet - He had always loved. Just loved. Simply loved.
And yet, love felt so far from even remotely possible in my world. My world was simply coping, managing, handling and surviving (dare I even admit that this surviving was simply surviving until a couple of 18th birthdays.) You can judge, it is heartbreaking to write it and I know it sounds unbearably terrible to just "manage" the lost.
But remember, I had aimed for the mark, ~ . . . as He is, so are you in this world ~ mark and I had failed. Terribly. Profoundly. Deeply. Failed.
I had truly wanted to love as He loves, love the hurting and the broken all around me. I had giving it my best shot and I missed the mark.
Maybe you can not relate. Maybe the love of Christ just spews out of you all over those lying, stealing, screaming, hating lost ones around you. But, for me, spewing had not happened (at least not that sort of spewing) and so I retreated into the 'just manage and cope corner' to lick my wounds and pray for strength to rise another day, rise another morning and try 'to cope and manage' for a few more hours.
And at that verse I would close the Book in utter frustration and deep self-disgust. I had tried and failed.
Enough said, I am assuming you got my point several paragraphs ago and yet, it is healing for me to admit it. To write it.
For quite some time I have lived life as one who manages the lost and broken, holding them at an arm's length for I too deeply knew the cut of the lost, the sting of the hurting. And I had learned that that the ones that hurt the most, were surely the ones who knew how to cut the deepest.
And my relationship with Jesus was, well, fine ~ I guess. I had done my due diligence. I had attempted to be as He was in this world and I had failed. I knew He was merciful, even to failures such as myself. And heaven was about His blood, not my works. So, I was fine.
Somewhat empty. But, fine. You know, coping. Managing. Surviving. Maybe more then somewhat empty, but still, fine.
He was never harsh, He knew I had tried and failed. But, He is kind and merciful. I was just not capable of being what He wanted or needed me to be in this world. He would just find a "better Christian." And they would do His work.
We had an understanding. Albeit, a sad and disheartening understanding but an understanding all the same. He would not strike me with lightening and I would limp along with my "managing" of the lost.
And then one day He said, "I think you finally understand that you can not do this "loving the lost" thing, that it is entirely a work of Mine, in you and through you. I think you are ready for a few new things."
And as simply as He said, He turned it. And a new understanding is beginning to be forged. And the deal is laid deeply in the foundation of His love. A God love. Not a fallen-man love. A God love.
And that is always has He had intended it to be and my vain attempts to do it any other way where just the necessary failures to show me how deeply I was incapable. And no amount of self-discipline. Or girding my loins (the XO's favorite). Or grinning and bearing it for the cause. Would do the work He had done. In this world. It would only be, only could be, a God work. In me. And in them.
A new day is dawning. For me. And for them.
It is His work. His love. His salvation. And His mercy.
End of our Story.
Oh except for this one thing - I do have a part to play and it is simply this. To lay down my rights at the foot of the Cross. My right to be offended when you scream at me and tell me you hate me. My right to be offended when you steal from the only people who attempted to care for you. My right to be offended when the police call, again. My right to NOT speak with my hands. My right to defend myself and my home. My right to be exhausted. My right to comfort. Or safety. Or any luxury. My right to be understand. And of course my right to appreciated. My right to be hurt and to talk about my hurt. My right to my feelings. My right to be heard and valued by my fellow man. My right to retirement. Or a few extra pennies in the bank account. My right to my Friday night, or Saturday night for the matter. Or weekends as a whole and definitely my right to a vacation. My right to finish a sentence without an interruption or my right to NOT answer my 1,000th question of the day or the hour for that matter. My right to not be spit on, or urinated on. My right to be loved, coddled or pampered. My right to rest or a nice meal. My right to a "new" shirt that did not come from someone else's closet. My right to NOT have to wait. My right to complain.
My right to MY life and MY future and MY dreams and MY hopes and MY goals and MY wants and even MY needs.
If I willing lay it ALL down He will give me His heart and love for the lost. That is the deal.
And after years of "doing" I am ready for the "surrendering." For it was never about what this little seed could do ~ it was always about how this little seed could die. (John 12:24)
A new day is dawning, at least for me. And them.
" . . . because as He is, so are we in this world." 1 John 4:17
That "He" is Jesus. As Jesus is in this world, so am I. Oh my, that bothered me. Deeply. And profoundly. Bothered me.
For I knew deeply and profoundly that it was not so for me. I was nothing like He was or is in this world. I was far more like me in this world, then like Him. And yet again, I had failed. At another necessary benchmark, I had failed.
I was not Jesus in this world, I was me and I have sob stories from my sweet children that I have wounded over the years and hours upon hours recorded on the books spent in angry complaining to prove it. Oh maybe, I spoke the churchiness jargon well enough to keep the complaining to myself, but complain I did. And I knew Jesus did not complain. He did not complain about me or about my children or about the fact that suffering and sacrifice were His constant companion as He worked upon this soil. He never said, "After all I have sacrificed for you! This is how you treat me?! I gave up everything for you! I gave up heaven for you! And you reject me and turn from me and lie to me and steal from me and get ARRESTED! Come on! Seriously!" He had not said that. No, that was me that had thought that - on repeat. Minus the heaven part, I had not given up heaven but I would have told you I had given up everything short of heaven.
It so deeply bothered me, for I had so profoundly missed the mark.
And I began to use words such as "manage" and "handle" - I had failed at the work He has set before me and the exhaustion took me to a place where the lost just need to be "managed." And I knew that Jesus had never "managed" a soul on this planet - He had always loved. Just loved. Simply loved.
And yet, love felt so far from even remotely possible in my world. My world was simply coping, managing, handling and surviving (dare I even admit that this surviving was simply surviving until a couple of 18th birthdays.) You can judge, it is heartbreaking to write it and I know it sounds unbearably terrible to just "manage" the lost.
But remember, I had aimed for the mark, ~ . . . as He is, so are you in this world ~ mark and I had failed. Terribly. Profoundly. Deeply. Failed.
I had truly wanted to love as He loves, love the hurting and the broken all around me. I had giving it my best shot and I missed the mark.
Maybe you can not relate. Maybe the love of Christ just spews out of you all over those lying, stealing, screaming, hating lost ones around you. But, for me, spewing had not happened (at least not that sort of spewing) and so I retreated into the 'just manage and cope corner' to lick my wounds and pray for strength to rise another day, rise another morning and try 'to cope and manage' for a few more hours.
And at that verse I would close the Book in utter frustration and deep self-disgust. I had tried and failed.
Enough said, I am assuming you got my point several paragraphs ago and yet, it is healing for me to admit it. To write it.
For quite some time I have lived life as one who manages the lost and broken, holding them at an arm's length for I too deeply knew the cut of the lost, the sting of the hurting. And I had learned that that the ones that hurt the most, were surely the ones who knew how to cut the deepest.
And my relationship with Jesus was, well, fine ~ I guess. I had done my due diligence. I had attempted to be as He was in this world and I had failed. I knew He was merciful, even to failures such as myself. And heaven was about His blood, not my works. So, I was fine.
Somewhat empty. But, fine. You know, coping. Managing. Surviving. Maybe more then somewhat empty, but still, fine.
He was never harsh, He knew I had tried and failed. But, He is kind and merciful. I was just not capable of being what He wanted or needed me to be in this world. He would just find a "better Christian." And they would do His work.
We had an understanding. Albeit, a sad and disheartening understanding but an understanding all the same. He would not strike me with lightening and I would limp along with my "managing" of the lost.
And then one day He said, "I think you finally understand that you can not do this "loving the lost" thing, that it is entirely a work of Mine, in you and through you. I think you are ready for a few new things."
And as simply as He said, He turned it. And a new understanding is beginning to be forged. And the deal is laid deeply in the foundation of His love. A God love. Not a fallen-man love. A God love.
And that is always has He had intended it to be and my vain attempts to do it any other way where just the necessary failures to show me how deeply I was incapable. And no amount of self-discipline. Or girding my loins (the XO's favorite). Or grinning and bearing it for the cause. Would do the work He had done. In this world. It would only be, only could be, a God work. In me. And in them.
A new day is dawning. For me. And for them.
It is His work. His love. His salvation. And His mercy.
End of our Story.
Oh except for this one thing - I do have a part to play and it is simply this. To lay down my rights at the foot of the Cross. My right to be offended when you scream at me and tell me you hate me. My right to be offended when you steal from the only people who attempted to care for you. My right to be offended when the police call, again. My right to NOT speak with my hands. My right to defend myself and my home. My right to be exhausted. My right to comfort. Or safety. Or any luxury. My right to be understand. And of course my right to appreciated. My right to be hurt and to talk about my hurt. My right to my feelings. My right to be heard and valued by my fellow man. My right to retirement. Or a few extra pennies in the bank account. My right to my Friday night, or Saturday night for the matter. Or weekends as a whole and definitely my right to a vacation. My right to finish a sentence without an interruption or my right to NOT answer my 1,000th question of the day or the hour for that matter. My right to not be spit on, or urinated on. My right to be loved, coddled or pampered. My right to rest or a nice meal. My right to a "new" shirt that did not come from someone else's closet. My right to NOT have to wait. My right to complain.
My right to MY life and MY future and MY dreams and MY hopes and MY goals and MY wants and even MY needs.
If I willing lay it ALL down He will give me His heart and love for the lost. That is the deal.
And after years of "doing" I am ready for the "surrendering." For it was never about what this little seed could do ~ it was always about how this little seed could die. (John 12:24)
A new day is dawning, at least for me. And them.
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