God is in control, no matter how hard I try to wrestle control away from Him.
I was exchanging email with a dear friend this morning, and in the course of that email, some things occurred to me in a fairly new way. I think this is an appropriate venue for sharing! Below is some of the text, revised for a wider audience.
I was listening to a sermon yesterday by Alistair Begg and I realized that while I get that Jesus took my sin so I wouldn’t have to, I’ve made that into something mathematical and void of feeling. Text-book truth that applies to my passport but not my heart. The sermon yesterday reminded me that Jesus also took my shame. And man, do I live with a lot of shame. Shame over big things, shame over tiny things. Shame over all things in between! Shame over nothing too, if I’m being honest. To know that Jesus took that shame is something that caught the very edge of my heart yesterday, and it got a little bit more of my heart this morning in the shower. (Shower theology is the cleanest! Or at least the wettest.) God is working on my heart.
I listened to an old Hardcore History this morning about the Great Depression, and ol’ Dan Carlin was talking about the migrant worker shanty towns, and how children died of malnutrition and lots of people just sat staring vacantly, because they’d shut themselves down from seeing/having so much pain. I wondered how I would handle it if the Goose died, and realized I haven’t entrusted her to Jesus — the *only* way she can truly be saved. And by saved, I mean saved for me. Selfishly put, I know, but it got me thinking — how can I survive if something happens to her? The only way is knowing that I’ll be able to kiss those sweet cheeks again in Paradise. I haven’t made her salvation a priority, partly because she’s 2, and partly because salvation has seemed like a stamp on a passport, and partly because there’s always time for that later. Right? ……………….right?
So these are the thoughts that occurred to me in email today. I haven’t had any time today to research ways to present the Gospel to a toddler, but the Missus and I do pray every night with her, and the Missus sings “Jesus Loves Me” to her every night. So the Goose at least knows there is a Jesus.
“Goosie, where’s Jesus?”
“Heart,” she says, pointing at her chest. Or her stomach. “Peesy heart!” she says, pointing at Peter Francis. “Mama heart!” she says, pointing at the Missus. “Cat heart!” she says, pointing at her stuffed kitty.
When the Goose was born, the Missus and I had a hard-to-have conversation about how we realized that the Goose’s safety is completely outside our control. We knew back then that we had to trust that God knows what He’s doing.
God, help us to keep trusting You. And help us lead the Goose to you by whatever means there are.