Sometimes...
The midday still to know that He is God.
To wonder why I despise.
The works of His hands.
That made me.
Me.
And sometimes...
The way self hatred rises from belly button to throat.
Making me feel strange and strangled.
Undeserving of love.
Of human compassion and kindness.
How sometimes...
The old man rises up out of the grave.
Trying to scare the new creation I am in Christ.
Waving his old hands around and making a wracket.
What a racket!
That sometimes...
I still fall for it, and that old man.
Well. He makes me fall right down.
And I must say aloud there at the kitchen sink.
Hands deep in scrubbing filth.
That I am alive in Christ.
And that no grave will ever hold me.
Just that sometimes...
Being brave means doing life afraid a lot.
How being terrified.
Wholly terrified.
Can draw you close to Jesus so you can become holy.
Like Jesus.
The One Who hung fear on the cross.
That we might walk out in all that freedom.
Bernadette
"Being brave means doing life afraid a lot." Yes. YES. I've a few old men in graves who grab hold of me, too, try to take me back to who I was before, tell me I haven't changed one bit. But God's the One Who keeps on calling us out of the grave, peeling back the grave clothes, and teaching us to live again. He never stops calling us to life. There is no condemnation for those who are in Christ. No condemnation. You are a new creation. There's no going back. You and me both, Friend. We are new.
ReplyDelete