Confession time because how long has it been since you have spent time with an enemy of God, and do you remember how hard it is to keep your mouth shut, and how you know you're casting your pearls to pigs, but you can't help it, not because you're so holy, but because you want to slap their faces and tell them to shut up because they know not what they say. Because they strike the head of the One you love, you want to strike them on the head. Dead. You become Peter, and you know it's wrong, and that it never works, but you're so frustrated and hurt that you become this sort of sword wielding, run on sentence making idiot. Agggh! I'm so mad!!! Is that blood I taste from the biting of the tongue, and is that heart burning in my chest because I absolutely want to thrash someone? Some might call it my Irish temper. Let's call it by its real name. Sin. I'm pretty sure this is not righteous anger, and friends, I know I'll get to it, but bear with me in the venting of flesh as it whistles its steam.
For it wasn't that long ago really...that I too mocked God. I said I loved Him and then slipped my hand into sin's. We walked many miles that way. Smiling to heaven by day and slipping 'neath the sheets of hell by night. Drinking in all His glory then drinking myself numb to all of it. Walking myself up to the prison and locking myself in. I didn't have eyes to see. YET! I had no desire to be free. YET! I made God in my own image, and I didn't care to know His Son. YET!
And, oh, there it is! If the risen Christ can raise this woman, He can raise others just like me. (Even the one who's lips I want to rip!) Even your beloved friends and family. Mine. Let us link arms and prayers to lift our hopes for all the prodigals out there. For the ones not yet brought in. For the dear ones He is waiting for...His hand remains stayed. Just. For. Them. Friends, let's pray that the full harvest would come in!
And you could pray for me too, and that Irish "temper" of mine.