Monday, August 13, 2012

Crushing butterflies

Isaiah 38:17 Surely it was for my benefit that I suffered such anguish. In your love you kept me from the pit of destruction; you have put all my sins behind your back.

So there I was, minding my own business changing the bed linens and being a good little homemaker.  There I was when God, out of nowhere, says,
"Do you think I like everything you do?"
What?  Where did that come from?  I'm just changing the sheets over here!  But no, now that you ask.  No, I don't think you like everything I do.  I'm short-tempered, I'm selfish, I'm all kinds of a jerk.  So, ok, I need to do what?  Be more holy?  Ok.
Nope.  Be more aware.  Be more purposeful.  Don't work on the symptoms, let Christ cure the disease.
I have always considered prayer not just supplication to God for favors but simply a fancy way of saying this is how I talk to God.  When I'm talking to him, it's prayer.
It now occurs to me, that from God's perspective, every thought is a conversation with him.  Every emotion is a response to him.  When my cares are held tight to my heart, they become ulcers.  When they are lifted with open hands toward him, they are like beautiful butterflies flying toward their Creator.  The release is what makes them lovely. Held in my fist, they are crushed and ugly.  Like bleeding ulcers, for example.
I am a Christian, I have intentionally declared my surrender to God and accepted his redemption of my eternity.  God is not worried about the list of sins he can record against me to prove that I am not worthy.  Our relationship has matured, now he is done with my symptoms and ready with my cure. It is not a matter of finding several methods by which to bring myself under submission.  For everything that he does not like, there are only my open hands to fix it.  To say, "Here God, here's my moment, my today, my weakness and nastiness and here..dear God...here is my small faith that causes my fist to close tightly around my own heart."
Joy is not captured with grasping desperation, it floats gently into open hands.  By letting go we fall into the miraculous.

1 comment:

a8383 said...

Said beautifully. Thank you. Angela