The Only Thing Good In Me

     

"You think you're better than me, because you're some 'Christian'?" 

If anyone asking that question could see within me, walk the halls of my heart, I'm almost certain they'd understand the answer. I'd like to tell them they haven't seen failure until they've met me. I'd like to show them they haven't seen broken, until they've known me. The fact is, me being a Christian only makes me aware of how much worse of a sinner I am than you. There is nothing good in me.

It's heartbreaking and laughable all at once, to think that anyone in their right mind could ask that of me.  Me, of all people. Paul thought he was the chief of sinners, but when I look inside myself, see all the times I've sinned against Jesus, my best friend, I think the title should belong to me.

Grace is the reason I sing. It's the only thing that keeps me smiling. Joy comes, not because I am good, but because God is good and He has spread my sins as far as the east is from the west.

I am sinful and depraved, broken and scarred. God extended His grace to me, not because I was lovable, but because He is love. I am not good. Jesus is the only thing good in me.

"For as it is written: 'None is righteous, no, not one; no one understands; no one seeks for God. All have turned aside; together they have become worthless; no one does good, not even one.'"

 ~Romans 3:10-12

A Slightly Bah Humbug Take On Thanksgiving

"And when I give thanks for the seemingly microscopic,

   I make a place for God to grow within me."

~Ann Voskamp

To be painfully honest, my enthusiasm for the holiday is lessening. The idea of setting aside an entire day to gorge ourselves into food comas is slightly disgusting, if you really take it into consideration. We eat because we're hungry and then we eat even though we're not. I know what you're thinking, It's thanksgiving. Lighten up. So with that being said, I'll drop the negativity and press on to more pleasant things.

Thanksgiving is the practice of giving thanks. It's the bold letters marked on calendars to tell the world its time. Time to acknowledge the fact that there is a loving God who showers His blessings on the undeserving, that's us. Most people scarcely find the time to utter a short prayer of thanks before an ordinary meal, but on this day they make an exception. It is a common practice for everyone to go around the table, taking turns to state things they are most thankful for. The things you usually hear are simple. The everyday things. The things they know they take for granted. If you watch this practice take place, really look into the eyes of the ones speaking, breathing out gratitude, you'll notice something: it makes them glad.

What a thought, actually setting aside a moment to recognize blessing. Do you see what it does to people? It makes them happy. Excitement weaves its way into their faces, leaving contented smiles and eyes that see as if they were fully awake. It's a remarkable discovery. They found the treasure, the answer they've been craving for so very long. And then they leave it there, all that gold, that everlasting joy. Once the sound of their alarms rip through the silence, they slap it down, catching a short glance at the early hour it reads. They rush to the stores, pushing through crowds and screaming at strangers. Riots explode over fools gold; smart phones that will crack if met by accident and expensive shoes and clothes that will soon be out of style.

I'm not denying my own selfishness, the amount of times I grumble over circumstance or whine about how much better my life would look if I just had that, or if this one thing just wasn't there anymore. I preach to myself when I say, we are selfish. We are basically sleeping, half awake to what we should really be seeing.

Thanksgiving day can be ugly or beautiful, genuine or hypocritical. It can be a day of practicing what we practice every day, drinking in the wonder of God's grace and praising Him for His unfathomable goodness. Or it can be a day set aside for the single purpose of greed, indulging in fleeting pleasures that won't last, saying thank you when we don't really mean it.

If we resolve to give thanks every day, for all things, in every circumstance, then our hearts will always be full. We will see with eyes wide open and feel with hearts that aren't numb. The answer is thanksgiving, giving back to God with genuine gratitude, all day, every day, no matter what it costs us.

So happy thanksgiving, today, tomorrow and the next and every day after that. Feel free to share you're thanksgiving experiences in the comments below. I'd love to hear about the memories you made. As Bah Humbug as this post might sound, I really do love this day, this time of giving thanks alongside the people that put the color into our lives. What are you thankful for?

The Logic Of A Wish

Wishes are the dreams that we hope for, all the while knowing it isn't likely for them to come to pass. They are the desires cast upon countless shooting stars, the coins tossed, with eyes clenched shut, into fountains. Wishes are the secrets whispered into dandelion dust and carried into the wind.
The coins splash into still waters and it sounds like progress. The seeds float out of sight and we think they're going somewhere. The stars make a hurried appearance and something stirs inside ourselves, a voice that tells us all things are possible.

I think that we all want something to hold onto, hope when change seems unlikely, but maybe wishes aren't the answer in and of themselves. Maybe we need to take the same faith we give a shooting star and invest that belief into the One who made the stars. He says that all things are possible and all that's left for us to do is ask, believe.

I've never closed my eyes and wished for something great to happen after blowing out candles on a birthday cake. That's just never seemed realistic, no matter what my age. Maybe it was because I wanted to hold onto my pride, not lowering myself to the childhood friend sitting next to me, the one who told me santa clause really did exist, after I informed her otherwise. I suppose there's nothing wrong with being realistic, seeing things as they are, just as long as it doesn't interfere with faith in the things that really matter.

Faith isn't easy, at least not for me. The thought of praying to someone I can't see, but believe in, is hard. The Bible says to have faith like a child, but I wasn't all that trustful as a kid either.

I blow dandelion dust because I like to watch the wind carry it off, not because I think all of my wildest dreams will finally come true. I've scarcely tossed pennies into fountains, but when I did, it was because I liked the way the sun beat down on them and made them glitter like diamonds in an opened jewelry box. As for shooting stars, well, let's face it, seeing them is a rare experience. Who has time for wishes anyway, when taking in that kind of excitement?

Maybe wishes are the things that we long for, the desires that seem to us impossible and maybe faith is the bridge that makes them attainable.

"If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you." ~John 15:7

I Write Things

Freedom is something we all ache for, because ultimately we are all being weighed down or bound by something. Relief is the exhale when we have breathed in the solution, found the key. Keys come in all different shapes and sizes. Some of us have what you might call a collection of keys and out of my personal collection is a pen, a pen and a notebook of blank pages that are reserved for all of my ramblings.

When I write the world makes better sense and I don't understand why.

There have often been days or sleepless nights due to a kind of pain that can hardly be described and when I can't form the words into a verbal prayer, my tears translate into letters, scribbles of my insides and it becomes easier to breathe.

I write and I don't stop until it gets better, because it always gets better, at least for a time.

To me there is a simple sort of pleasure in a notebook full of ink. Those are my words, my feelings, fictional worlds I have created, my insides communicated. I don't know why I do it or if it matters, but I won't stop until I find out.

I write because I never want to forget what its like to feel. I write because it is the easiest way to let it out, to make sense of all of life's perplexities and heartaches, to capture moments into words that will never fade away. I write because the right words never skip off of my tongue and they always land where I think they should on a page. I write because it makes me feel alive. I write because God uses those words to set me free, to open my eyes day after day to all the solutions He maps out for me. He gave me this pen, this key, so that I might understand Him better, so that I might stay awake to hear Him speak, to see Him at work all around me.

I drain ink out of pens and it makes me feel free. What about you?