This has got to be all about bringing glory to God.
It cannot be about making the right decisions or about making myself look wise or spiritual. It’s about allowing Christ to increase while I decrease.
No matter what else happens, that should be the ultimate outcome. The level of integrity and purity and holiness I maintain should be reflective of that goal.
It’s not that big a deal. These things that consume my mind really don’t belong there. At the end of the day, there is no activity, person, drink, or idea that will fill the way Christ will. So these little things, the mundane, the seemingly big things are not a big deal. Jesus is.
So I’m unsure. So I’m terrified. So I’m inadequate. So what.
Faith is believing even when the end doesn’t look so good.
All of my questions are not going to be answered on a whim, but I can have strength for every day and enough to encourage others if I simply keep first things first. It’s simple. It’s logical. It’s necessary.
You guys know that I never reblog things. But this is exactly what was on my heart and expressed with much more eloquence and clarity than I could have afforded you. Simply put - get in the word, guys.
When I am not diligent in spending time with God, tracing his reality in the details of my life, it isn’t that I have denounced my faith, but something much worse—I am not experiencing His fullness in my life, and naturally, it feels a lot like emptiness. Neglecting His relevance constructs an illusion of emptiness and ushers in the most conflicting emotions. Pressing my hands over my eyes, I ask why I can’t see him; pressing my hands to my ears, I ask why I can’t hear him; pushing my hands into my pockets, I ask why I can’t feel him. Ignoring him will cultivate ignorance, and ignorance will breed ambivalence. This is a ridiculous thing to allow.
He is my clarity, He is my sanity, He is my security. Why do I hesitate to run wild in the realm of His reality? How do I convince myself to get up in the morning without feeling the weight of his beauty; without sifting through the details for his fingertips; without smelling the way His truth lingers on my cheeks; without listening for the comforting sound of His nearness. Why am I trying to convince myself that the idea of Him is enough when He has made himself available to me? You know how absurd that is? It’s as absurd as standing in the rain during winter, and being content to think about a warm bath instead of walking inside, filling the tub with water, and getting in. Why do we choose narrative over reality? Why do we prefer the religious affiliation over the invasive presence of his love?
So what we’re getting at is that if I’m setting myself up for failure you’re going to let me know, okay?