When my family and I first moved back to Florida several years ago I became a pest control technician. I could tell you horror story after horror story of houses and restaurants overrun with, well, pests. I will spare you the gory details of most of them - except one. And, don't worry - it's really not that bad.
The guy who trained me (his name escapes me) had a stop on his route in south Tampa that had a problem with bees. So we went by to investigate their problem. They said there was a big hive that was prohibiting their customers from entering their bookstore. So, I mean, really - just how BIG could this hive be? Up to this point the only thing close to a hive I had ever seen was a big hornets' nest on the side of a rental property my parents owned and the ubiquitous wasp nests seen in every corner of every house in every neighborhood in Tampa. I was nowhere near prepared for what I was about to see.
The hive was unbelievably big. In fact, big didn't do it justice. It wasn't big. It was gigantic. It had formed it's own gravitational pull and fragments of space matter were orbiting the hive. Ok - I made that up. We were attracted to the hive because that was our job and the things orbiting the hive were bees. But nonetheless the thing was huge. It had taken over the tree in which it "hung". It's residents had taken over the staircase adjacent to the tree and leading to the entrance to the bookstore. This hive did in fact prohibit people from entering the bookstore.
My first instinct was to destroy it. I mean, that's what we did to the hornets' nest years ago and that's what we do to the thousands of paper wasp nests we see every year. So why not? Well, it seems that bees are protected. You are not allowed to destroy the hive. You can remove and relocate it. If I remember correctly, that is. And we were not equipped to remove and relocate this monstrosity at this particular point in time. So we had to regroup. We backed away from the hive to get another look and devise a plan for future relocation.
Upon second look, I could see row after row, column after column, comb after comb of honey. Pure, sweet, local honey. It was beautiful. I think part of me expected to see a little Sue B Honey bear-shaped container fall out of the hive or see Winnie the Pooh stumble down the stairs with a pot stuck on his head. But that's not what it looks like in the hive. It's still in the comb. It's a little grainy. It's thick. It looks nothing like the HoneyComb cereal that I sometimes eat. Honestly, it's not really something I think I'd like to see on a piece of toast or waffle. But it was beautiful. I marveled at the "magic" these bees had worked. I marveled at the work they had put in to create such a fantastic home. I never once thought about sticking my hand inside, grabbing a honeycomb, and cramming that baby in my mouth.
But I would have if I had been hungry.
Jonathan and his armor-bearer won a great victory for Israel in I Samuel 14. They slew, the Bible says, about 20 men in a garrison of the Philistines. This caused a great noise that could be heard back at the Israelite camp. Saul, who was just about to inquire of the Lord if he should make war with these Philistines, stopped the priest and summoned the men to battle. The Philistines were defeated for a while. The Lord saved Israel that day and He used the prince and his armor-bearer to bring a great salvation to God's people. All the fighting made Jonathan hungry. Who could blame him? It takes a lot out of a man to climb between two boulders and kill 20 bad guys. So with the battle over, Jonathan stuck the end of his staff in a honeycomb, brought the comb to his lips, ate it, and was enlightened. He was refreshed. He was ready to go finish off the rest of the heathen dogs and defiers of God and all things holy.
Funny thing, though, that honey. He wasn't supposed to eat it. And as he looked around, no one else had shared in his enlightenment. He alone had tasted just a little of the honey. The people knew something he didn't. While Jonathan and his armor-bearer were engaged in the battle Saul decreed that no one could eat that day until he was avenged of his enemies. Disobedience of this decree would bring certain death with extreme prejudice no matter who the lawbreaker was or to whom he was related. So while Jonathan feasted on that honey the people fainted because they feared the oath of King Saul. A great battle had been won, but a greater one could have been won had the people only followed Jonathan's lead. But they didn't. They were too afraid.
In the battle we fight in serving the Lord we are in danger of growing faint. And we will faint. We will grow weak and tired. We will drop our swords and our bodies will stop us dead in our tracks.
Unless we eat some honey.
Now, I don't mean that you should go to your local beekeeper and swipe some of his honey. I don't mean go to the pantry and grab that bear-shaped container and squirt it in your mouth like you would Redywhip whipped topping. That won't do anything but get you stung or give you high blood sugar. No... you and I need to feast on something the Psalmist of Israel described as sweeter than honey. We need to feast on God's Word. We need to immerse ourselves in the well that will never run dry. Don't just get a morsel here and there - feast on the eternal Word of God and watch how it enlightens your spirit. Watch how it gives new life and strength. Watch how it gives you hope for the next battle. Just eat a little honey.
The only thing holding you back is fear. The people could have feasted but they feared the king's oath. They were worried about what King Saul would say. They cared more for what the earthly king said than what was right in the sight of God. Do you care more about what others think than what God thinks? If you do, you won't eat. You'll faint. Do you care more about what your husband, your wife, your kids, your friends, your co-workers think? Then you won't eat. You'll faint.
Serve the right king. Look to Jesus and serve Him, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. Taste and see that the Lord is good. Feast on something that is sweeter than honey. Then as we labor together side by side, in obedience to the Lord and with the Lord, you can look for me.
I'll be the one with the honeypot stuck on his head.
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Friday, January 25, 2013
The Ghosts of New Years' Past
So I made a couple of resolutions this year. Now, I don't call them "resolutions". I make it sound spiritual. I even told my Sunday School class - they aren't resolutions because we always break resolutions. Resolutions are contingent upon what I do and I just don't have it in me. The flesh is weak. You know. I don't even call them commitments to Christ. That's just way too man-centered (I say to myself in my best pious voice - kind of with an English accent) and man-centered just isn't how I want to portray myself.
I call them "areas of my life that I have surrendered to God afresh and anew." If I surrender to God it's He who does the work in my life not me who does the work while attributing the credit (maybe) to God. Truthfully, I really do believe that's how it should be. If I'm to do the work, I don't. If I surrender and let Him do the work, He does. Of course, I have my part, you have your part, and God has His part. We all need to do our part - but ultimately if left up to me, at some point in time I will fail. I will not fulfill my commitment. And neither will you.
So this year, I put it all on the line. As I said, I told my Sunday School class not to resolve but to surrender! And surrender I did. But it was not an unconditional surrender. In fact, I really didn't even give up the fight. I just called it surrender so I wouldn't have to make a commitment to a battle I wouldn't win. I just called it surrender so I wouldn't have to fight the battle that needed (and needs) to be fought. I just called it surrender so I could keep fighting the battle I always fight - the one against the God to Whom I claimed to surrender.
Upon the realization that the areas I allegedly surrendered had not been surrendered at all a thought occurred to me. These same areas were things that have been committed to Christ before. They are the same things I resolved to stop or start in years previous. They are the ghosts of New Years' past.
Maybe it's the feeling in the pit of your stomach after remembering that you forgot to read your Bible this morning - or this week. It could be the guilt that comes from quick, habitual "devotions" that are intended to appease the guilt but instead they only bring awareness of a shallow walk with God. It's seeing your wife's face drawn taut as you realize that although she makes you want to be a better man you haven't wanted to be a better man bad enough to really do anything about it. It's the dejected look of your husband who, after years of being pounded by your lack of confidence in him and respect for him, struggles to please you. And deep down you know it's not him. It's the return of that sheriff that the shepherd shot so long ago. He keeps demanding justice from all who cross his path with no thought of mercy or grace. He'll run the house - and your life - if you let him. And he just keeps coming. Ghosts of New Years' past.
I Kings 20 speaks to this. Benhadad, the king of Syria, had Samaria under siege. He sent messengers with his demands. He wanted compromise. Ahab, king of Israel, was to give his wives, his children, his gold, and his silver to Benhadad and he consented. He compromised. No doubt it was a compromise few of us would make - especially when it concerns our family. But Ahab consented. Messengers came again saying that now they were going to take everything that Ahab held dear. Now I have no idea what he could have held dearer than his wives and children, but the point is this - if you compromise with the enemy he will take all. To Ahab's credit he drew the line here. He would not give Benhadad everything he desired.
A prophet came and told Ahab that he would be victorious. But he would have to fight the same king - Benhadad, king of Syria - in exactly one year. Ahab reluctantly led the young princes in to battle and was victorious. The pursued the Syrians all the way back to the Syrian city of Aphek. That sounds great, but it's not. Aphek may have been a Syrian city but it was within the borders of the ten northern tribes of Israel. Ahab didn't wipe out the enemy completely. He didn't pursue the enemy all the way back to Syria. He didn't even drive them out of his own country. And because of this he had to fight the same battle against the same king that he had defeated once before.
That sounds like the lives of many Christians that I know. Always fighting the same battles, always reclaiming the same surrendered ground, the pilgrim never making any real progress. They are haunted by the ghosts of New Years' past that have assembled at Aphek. That word - Aphek - means "stronghold". There they stand throwing the same old weights and besetting sins at us year after year after year. And every year we resolve to tear down the stronghold. Or we commit to Christ that we will tear down the stronghold. Or we do what I claimed to do this year - we surrender to not even fighting the battle. We bury ourselves in books or business hoping to ignore the ghosts only to be pierced by the same fiery dart that got us last year.
So how do we win? How does that stronghold get torn down and destroyed? I mean, I've tried it all and so have you. We resolve, we commit, and when all else fails we surrender. What else can we do? We can yield. It's not a matter of surrender it's a matter of yielding. The battle isn't against God. The battle is over who I'm going to yield to.
"Neither yield ye your members as instruments of unrighteousness unto sin: but yield yourselves unto God, as those that are alive from the dead, and your members as instruments of righteousness unto God...Know ye not, that to whom ye yield yourselves servants to obey, his servants ye are to whom ye obey; whether of sin unto death, or of obedience unto righteousness? But God be thanked, that ye were the servants of sin, but ye have obeyed from the heart that form of doctrine which was delivered you. Being then made FREE from sin, ye became the servants of righteousness." Romans 6:13, 16-18
In yielding, I am victorious! No more resolutions. No more commitments. No more fighting the same battles year after year. Only victory. And freedom. "Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free, and be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage." (Galatians 5:1). I'm free. Free in Christ. And free indeed!
I feel like William Wallace. Or those people who call the Dave Ramsey show after having paid off all their debt. FREEDOM!!!
But what about the ghosts? There's no such thing.
I call them "areas of my life that I have surrendered to God afresh and anew." If I surrender to God it's He who does the work in my life not me who does the work while attributing the credit (maybe) to God. Truthfully, I really do believe that's how it should be. If I'm to do the work, I don't. If I surrender and let Him do the work, He does. Of course, I have my part, you have your part, and God has His part. We all need to do our part - but ultimately if left up to me, at some point in time I will fail. I will not fulfill my commitment. And neither will you.
So this year, I put it all on the line. As I said, I told my Sunday School class not to resolve but to surrender! And surrender I did. But it was not an unconditional surrender. In fact, I really didn't even give up the fight. I just called it surrender so I wouldn't have to make a commitment to a battle I wouldn't win. I just called it surrender so I wouldn't have to fight the battle that needed (and needs) to be fought. I just called it surrender so I could keep fighting the battle I always fight - the one against the God to Whom I claimed to surrender.
Upon the realization that the areas I allegedly surrendered had not been surrendered at all a thought occurred to me. These same areas were things that have been committed to Christ before. They are the same things I resolved to stop or start in years previous. They are the ghosts of New Years' past.
Maybe it's the feeling in the pit of your stomach after remembering that you forgot to read your Bible this morning - or this week. It could be the guilt that comes from quick, habitual "devotions" that are intended to appease the guilt but instead they only bring awareness of a shallow walk with God. It's seeing your wife's face drawn taut as you realize that although she makes you want to be a better man you haven't wanted to be a better man bad enough to really do anything about it. It's the dejected look of your husband who, after years of being pounded by your lack of confidence in him and respect for him, struggles to please you. And deep down you know it's not him. It's the return of that sheriff that the shepherd shot so long ago. He keeps demanding justice from all who cross his path with no thought of mercy or grace. He'll run the house - and your life - if you let him. And he just keeps coming. Ghosts of New Years' past.
I Kings 20 speaks to this. Benhadad, the king of Syria, had Samaria under siege. He sent messengers with his demands. He wanted compromise. Ahab, king of Israel, was to give his wives, his children, his gold, and his silver to Benhadad and he consented. He compromised. No doubt it was a compromise few of us would make - especially when it concerns our family. But Ahab consented. Messengers came again saying that now they were going to take everything that Ahab held dear. Now I have no idea what he could have held dearer than his wives and children, but the point is this - if you compromise with the enemy he will take all. To Ahab's credit he drew the line here. He would not give Benhadad everything he desired.
A prophet came and told Ahab that he would be victorious. But he would have to fight the same king - Benhadad, king of Syria - in exactly one year. Ahab reluctantly led the young princes in to battle and was victorious. The pursued the Syrians all the way back to the Syrian city of Aphek. That sounds great, but it's not. Aphek may have been a Syrian city but it was within the borders of the ten northern tribes of Israel. Ahab didn't wipe out the enemy completely. He didn't pursue the enemy all the way back to Syria. He didn't even drive them out of his own country. And because of this he had to fight the same battle against the same king that he had defeated once before.
That sounds like the lives of many Christians that I know. Always fighting the same battles, always reclaiming the same surrendered ground, the pilgrim never making any real progress. They are haunted by the ghosts of New Years' past that have assembled at Aphek. That word - Aphek - means "stronghold". There they stand throwing the same old weights and besetting sins at us year after year after year. And every year we resolve to tear down the stronghold. Or we commit to Christ that we will tear down the stronghold. Or we do what I claimed to do this year - we surrender to not even fighting the battle. We bury ourselves in books or business hoping to ignore the ghosts only to be pierced by the same fiery dart that got us last year.
So how do we win? How does that stronghold get torn down and destroyed? I mean, I've tried it all and so have you. We resolve, we commit, and when all else fails we surrender. What else can we do? We can yield. It's not a matter of surrender it's a matter of yielding. The battle isn't against God. The battle is over who I'm going to yield to.
"Neither yield ye your members as instruments of unrighteousness unto sin: but yield yourselves unto God, as those that are alive from the dead, and your members as instruments of righteousness unto God...Know ye not, that to whom ye yield yourselves servants to obey, his servants ye are to whom ye obey; whether of sin unto death, or of obedience unto righteousness? But God be thanked, that ye were the servants of sin, but ye have obeyed from the heart that form of doctrine which was delivered you. Being then made FREE from sin, ye became the servants of righteousness." Romans 6:13, 16-18
In yielding, I am victorious! No more resolutions. No more commitments. No more fighting the same battles year after year. Only victory. And freedom. "Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free, and be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage." (Galatians 5:1). I'm free. Free in Christ. And free indeed!
I feel like William Wallace. Or those people who call the Dave Ramsey show after having paid off all their debt. FREEDOM!!!
But what about the ghosts? There's no such thing.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Fixing Broken Crayons
If you have children you know that it's not time to worry until it's quiet. Most people want quiet. They get annoyed at the barrage of voices echoing through the house. They ask the waiter for a new table for fear of little ones hurling words like bombs that blast through the silence. Bill Cosby even said that he didn't want justice, he wanted quiet. I have to disagree. When the silence comes, they are up to something.
My wife asked me one afternoon, "Where's Sammy?" You see, that silence had come and we had no idea what our very industrious and VERY mischievous son was up to. We hurriedly checked every room of the house. Bedroom - no. Other bedroom - still no. Bathroom - nope (whew!). Other bathroom - uh-uh. Kitchen - no. Laundry room - no, wait! Yes! As we walked into the laundry room we caught - er, found - him walking from the garage into the laundry room and back into the house. Now we had to decipher a five year-old's description of what he was doing.
We lit into him. We just knew he had found something in the garage to destroy. He could have gotten into my tools. He could have gotten into his mom's craft supplies - little fuzzy balls and glue, not good. He could have gotten a book and been reading quietly. HAHAHAHA! No. He was into something and I was going to find it out.
"I'm just fixing crayons."
I knew it! Wait a minute. Did he say that he was fixing broken crayons? I struggled with this. He was supposed to be tearing things off the shelves and playing with power tools. He was supposed to be making a mess. But he said he was fixing crayons. And he is holding a previously broken crayon in one hand and glue in the other. My rambunctious son had been fixing things. I was dumbfounded. I asked him to explain. "I was coloring and my crayon broke. So I fixed it." He glued the broken crayon back together and was headed back to finish coloring his picture.
I was amazed at his little mind. He had figured this out all on his own. He thought his crayon would be as good as new if he glued it back together. He didn't realize that he could only color until he reached the glue. He didn't realize that the crayon wasn't as good as new - it was just temporarily pieced back together. But fixing the crayons made perfect sense to him. And it did to me too. I watched as he scurried off to finish coloring his picture. And I went off to fix some broken crayons of my own.
Don't look at me like that. We all do it. We all try to fix our broken crayons.
There's the lost soul, wandering in search of a way - any way - to some kind of peace, some kind of hope. He tries to console himself in the fact that he's a good person. He tries to appease the gods or God by going to church. He's just a broken crayon.
There's the guilt-ridden husband, trying to mend the marriage he destroyed. And no matter how many books he reads or love dares he completes, she's not buying it. He's a broken crayon.
There's the grieving mother, now sobbing tearless sobs - she has cried so hard for so long. Nothing she does can fill the void left by that little one that she just yesterday held in her lap and kissed goodnight - now goodbye. She's a broken crayon.
Whatever the situation, whatever the circumstance, we are all people trying to fix broken crayons. But it doesn't really work. We don't realize that the glue only temporarily pieces us or our perfect world back together. The glue doesn't make us as good as new. After awhile we become a patchwork cutout of ourselves, with frayed and threadbare seams. For all our trying, we can make nothing of ourselves except a broken crayon.
But there is Someone who is in the business of fixing broken crayons. He does great work and is highly recommended. But just a word of caution - when you bring a crayon to Him you won't get it back. He gives you a brand new one in it's place. He doesn't worry about the frayed and threadbare seams. He makes you new. He makes all things new. He gives peace and hope. He mends broken marriages. He heals broken hearts. He is the potter that makes the old clay over again. As He fixes broken crayons, He takes blind eyes and makes them see. As He fixes broken crayons, He takes lame limbs and makes them walk. He takes vile affection and turns it toward the ones for whom it was originally intended. He takes a dead and lifeless body and breathes life - new life - into it. He doesn't want anything as payment for fixing the crayon. His Son paid for that long ago. He just wants your crayon.
I know what it's like. I have brought several broken crayons to Him. He took that lost soul and saved it. He took that old thing and made it new. And He didn't stop there. He has taken broken crayon after broken crayon and fixed every single one of them. He took a life that I thought was beyond repair and hopeless and He made it new. Not just livable. Not just endurable. Not just a patchwork. New. Brand new.
He is waiting. And there we stand, with glue in one hand and our broken crayon in the other.
My wife asked me one afternoon, "Where's Sammy?" You see, that silence had come and we had no idea what our very industrious and VERY mischievous son was up to. We hurriedly checked every room of the house. Bedroom - no. Other bedroom - still no. Bathroom - nope (whew!). Other bathroom - uh-uh. Kitchen - no. Laundry room - no, wait! Yes! As we walked into the laundry room we caught - er, found - him walking from the garage into the laundry room and back into the house. Now we had to decipher a five year-old's description of what he was doing.
We lit into him. We just knew he had found something in the garage to destroy. He could have gotten into my tools. He could have gotten into his mom's craft supplies - little fuzzy balls and glue, not good. He could have gotten a book and been reading quietly. HAHAHAHA! No. He was into something and I was going to find it out.
"I'm just fixing crayons."
I knew it! Wait a minute. Did he say that he was fixing broken crayons? I struggled with this. He was supposed to be tearing things off the shelves and playing with power tools. He was supposed to be making a mess. But he said he was fixing crayons. And he is holding a previously broken crayon in one hand and glue in the other. My rambunctious son had been fixing things. I was dumbfounded. I asked him to explain. "I was coloring and my crayon broke. So I fixed it." He glued the broken crayon back together and was headed back to finish coloring his picture.
I was amazed at his little mind. He had figured this out all on his own. He thought his crayon would be as good as new if he glued it back together. He didn't realize that he could only color until he reached the glue. He didn't realize that the crayon wasn't as good as new - it was just temporarily pieced back together. But fixing the crayons made perfect sense to him. And it did to me too. I watched as he scurried off to finish coloring his picture. And I went off to fix some broken crayons of my own.
Don't look at me like that. We all do it. We all try to fix our broken crayons.
There's the lost soul, wandering in search of a way - any way - to some kind of peace, some kind of hope. He tries to console himself in the fact that he's a good person. He tries to appease the gods or God by going to church. He's just a broken crayon.
There's the guilt-ridden husband, trying to mend the marriage he destroyed. And no matter how many books he reads or love dares he completes, she's not buying it. He's a broken crayon.
There's the grieving mother, now sobbing tearless sobs - she has cried so hard for so long. Nothing she does can fill the void left by that little one that she just yesterday held in her lap and kissed goodnight - now goodbye. She's a broken crayon.
Whatever the situation, whatever the circumstance, we are all people trying to fix broken crayons. But it doesn't really work. We don't realize that the glue only temporarily pieces us or our perfect world back together. The glue doesn't make us as good as new. After awhile we become a patchwork cutout of ourselves, with frayed and threadbare seams. For all our trying, we can make nothing of ourselves except a broken crayon.
But there is Someone who is in the business of fixing broken crayons. He does great work and is highly recommended. But just a word of caution - when you bring a crayon to Him you won't get it back. He gives you a brand new one in it's place. He doesn't worry about the frayed and threadbare seams. He makes you new. He makes all things new. He gives peace and hope. He mends broken marriages. He heals broken hearts. He is the potter that makes the old clay over again. As He fixes broken crayons, He takes blind eyes and makes them see. As He fixes broken crayons, He takes lame limbs and makes them walk. He takes vile affection and turns it toward the ones for whom it was originally intended. He takes a dead and lifeless body and breathes life - new life - into it. He doesn't want anything as payment for fixing the crayon. His Son paid for that long ago. He just wants your crayon.
I know what it's like. I have brought several broken crayons to Him. He took that lost soul and saved it. He took that old thing and made it new. And He didn't stop there. He has taken broken crayon after broken crayon and fixed every single one of them. He took a life that I thought was beyond repair and hopeless and He made it new. Not just livable. Not just endurable. Not just a patchwork. New. Brand new.
He is waiting. And there we stand, with glue in one hand and our broken crayon in the other.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Sticks And Stones
As kids we had some silly put-downs. "I'm rubber, you're glue, whatever you say bounces off of me, and sticks on you!" or "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me." Then there was, "I know you are but what I am I?" and finally, the end-all-beat-all, "Your momma!" When you got into a verbal altercation on the playground in elementary school, most of the time was spent jockeying into position to be able to drop one of those put-downs on the other combatant. If you could time it just right, you could send him home crying. The crowd would cheer. You'd be a hero! But if you waited a split second too long or hurled the jab a little too early - it was over. You were the one crying. You were the one left to play freeze tag by yourself. And the other guy was the hero. Timing back then was the same as timing is now - everything.
The funny thing about those put-downs is that they never really hurt too badly. Oh sure, you felt like the world was going to end because you ended up being the glue and everybody knew it. But after a good dinner and a good night's sleep, all was right with that world and you had the chance to be the rubber NOT the glue and if you played your cards right, somebody's momma was in big trouble mister. No matter who ended up being the rubber or who ended up being the glue, everything eventually bounced off or rolled off and none of it was any skin off of your nose or back.
But then something changed. The same deathblow in elementary school wouldn't phase them in middle school or junior high. And you better be practiced up and really creative once you move into high school. And somewhere along the line you had better pick up some thick skin. Otherwise you would be sent home crying. And this time it would linger a while. This time, it mattered whether or not you were the rubber or the glue.
And then the stakes got even higher as you entered adulthood. Now we're playing for keeps. Now, the one hurling the verbal jabs and the one taking them both end up crying - on the outside or inside, but crying nonetheless. Yes...the stakes ARE higher. And the wounds are deeper. And the healing takes longer.
And rest assured, the hurt will come. "For unto you it is given in the behalf of Christ, not only to believe on Him, but also to suffer for His sake.." Suffering is as much a part of life as is breathing. It's been said that if you aren't suffering now, either you just were or you soon will be. Suffering comes in all shapes and sizes. It comes from many different fronts. Sometimes the enemy is easily identified. Sometimes the enemy is wearing sheep's clothing. Sometimes the enemy stares back at us as we shave and brush our teeth in the morning. Sometimes you know the reason for the hurt, but sometimes - many times - you have to comfort yourself in the fact that God knows and you may never.
One thing is constant - hurt hurts. Now, some will tell you that it doesn't hurt - that it's nothing, that it doesn't matter. But it does hurt, it is something, and it does matter. That's why it hurts. And even the hardest heart cracks when hit. Even the one who is seemingly so strong on the outside can be devastated by the hurt. Many of us have a veneer - it may be sarcasm or false strength or stoicism. But that thin film is easily penetrated by the carefully timed jab. And - it - hurts.
But just as sure as the hurt comes, so does the healing. It may take some time, but it does come. It may take some work, but it does come. It may hurt like methiolade as it does it's work in you. But it does come. There will be times when you doubt. There will be days when the hurt SEEMS deeper. You will think the salve is insufficient for the wound. But there IS a Balm of Gilead. God does catch our tears in a bottle according to the Psalms and He understands. He heals. When that hurtful jab is hurled and connects on the soft tissue of a broken heart He wants us to do what we did when we were kids. He wants us to run home to Him.
Sticks and stones may break my bones, and names are sure to hurt me. But whether I'm the rubber or the glue, or whether I know you are, but what I am is still in question, and no matter if my momma has been summoned - I have a Father up in Heaven who hears me and sees me and HE is inclined to help me. The Lord will deliver me in the time of trouble.
And timing is everything.
ct
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Sunday, November 22, 2009
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