The Morgan Church Devotional

a pastor's thoughts about...uhm...stuff

Location: Morgan, VT., United States

follower of Jesus. husband & father. friend. pastor.

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Mississippi Half-Step > Attics of My Life

"What's the point to callin shots?
This cue ain't straight in line
Cueball's made of styrofoam
and no one's got the time"

In the book of love's own dream
Where all the print is blood
Where all the pages are my days
And all my lights grow old
When I had no wings to flyYou flew to me

recently we were asked something like this:

"i've recently gotten serious about following Jesus (not the exact words; but, i think, the essence of what was said), and i would like to know that i am more miserable now than i was b4. it's like b4 i was oblivious to what i was doing wrong--now, i just keep messing up and i'm just miserable about it."

that's a tough spot to be in, and we all end up there time to time--especially when we just get started following Jesus...and if we don't learn another way, we spend all of our time:

1. knowing what we should do
2. knowing we never live up to it
3. being miserable about it.

as christians we know we aren't shooting pool with a straight cue. all of our shots are off and to top it off, the cue ball bounces all over the place because it has no weight behind it. what's the use? we won't ever win with what we have, we won't ever be able to make a shot we call, so why bother?

that's where the person who asked the question was. but what they (and we) need to be reminded of is this wonderful thing we call grace.

we cannot, CANNOT, on our own, fly to God. we are helpless to. we are hopeless in our futile little billiards game.

but when we cannot fly, He flies to us.
when we cannot hear the song, He sings to us.
when there were no strings to play, He plays to us.
when we cannot even dream, He dreams of us.

we will never meet God based on our own performance. we will never be able to earn our relationship with Him. we can only, only, only trust in His grace and mercy.


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