Skip to main content

Posts

Showing posts from May, 2017

M.Y.O.B.

Sometimes I say I'm doing something for God, and then I obsess over how well I did or didn't do it. Or what other people think of it.

Take being hospitable for example, I apologize for my house because I'm not a great housekeeper. Even when I've spent hours getting it ready for company. I apologize for the food because I'm not a great cook and I feel bad that they have to eat my cooking when they come to my house for dinner.

But if I'm REALLY doing it for God's glory, then why do I obsess over my performance?

If it's really for God's glory and not seeking my own, then God is my focus. Not how well I did. Not how smoothly things did or did not go.

If it's really for God's glory, it doesn't matter how many followers I have or who wants to publish my writing.

If it's for God's glory and I am doing the best I can, it doesn't matter if the chicken is the best chicken my guests have ever eaten or if the loaf is evenly cooked and ea…

Judging Peter

I've judged Peter before. But not today.I imagine the wind sweeping through his hair, blowing into his face as he calls out to Jesus.Words come out of nowhere, "Bid me to come to you on the water!"Peter steps out onto the water and. . . things change. The impossibility of walking on water and virility of the wind just gets to him.Talk is cheap. It's the doing that costs.I feel called. I dream and scheme. I make a plan.But the moment I take a step toward actually DOING the plan . . . a big step that could be life changing and devastating if I heard God wrong.I can't catch my breath.Panic.Can I undo this? This is crazy! Why did I think this was a good idea?!I think of Peter. And I don't judge his fear of the wind.My plans are God's. He can do with them what He will.I am not looking at that wind.I am not questioning the mechanics of the impossible. That's not my job.It's my job to put one foot in front of the other . . .and to keep my eyes on Jesus w…

Battlefield of Another Kind

Air stale. Putrid.Thick.
Gunpowder. Rotting flesh.
Graveyard of unburied bodies. Flies.
Explosions, gunfire fly like cars on the Autobahn in heavy traffic. Body no longer reacts to the sounds.
Weapon hugged to chest.
Eyes meet. Recognize.
Dirt and soot and sweat cling to skin like mask.
Those eyes . . . a respite from the battle. For a split second, we are not on the battlefield, not in war...home. And I know, the ugliness won't consume me.
We didn't know each other before our world became life and death. Miles apart. Contrasting sides of "the tracks". Interests, viewpoints, life goals separated us like roaches when you turn on the light.
But here.
Here.
In the trenches. Through the battle.
Brothers. More than blood. Soul-mates.
Reason to keep walking.
Sustainer through bitter cold and deep weariness when feet refuse to carry on.
Doctor wounds, tell stories, live our faith that someday this will be over. Carry each other through gun fire, darkness and despair.
N…