Somedays I don’t feel very lovable.
Truthfully, most days I don’t feel very lovable.
I look at my failures and weaknesses . . . my foolish emotions and misunderstandings, my lack of patience and persistent procrastination just to name a few.
I’m a mess. You too?
Then join me for a few moments and look at several quotes and Bible verses that will remind us that it’s not about us. It’s about Him. It’s always about Him. God’s grace and mercy in and through Jesus giving us new life and a hope that will last forever.
Grace is love that cares and stoops and rescues.
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Sometimes God stops us in our tracks…for our own good.
I was recently on my knees in prayer…over a situation I have no control.
A situation that was getting the best of me.
I didn’t know what to pray anymore, and I’d moved to just trying to prepare myself for whatever might happen.
While I talked with God, something changed in how I was praying.
“I know what you’re doing here God, and…”
Immediately, I felt God ask me…
“Do you know what I’m doing?”
My breath caught sharply, and I thought of the book of Job when God gets fed up with Job and challenges him with a lot of questions.
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Today is my birthday and I’m 46. It’s one of those times in life when you look in the mirror and ask yourself questions.
Because I recently had lunch with a beautiful older woman who told me she couldn’t recommend the facelift and laser treatment she’d had (which she said felt like a blow torch on her face), I’m not considering a facelift.
Is Your Faith Sagging?
I have been considering how to repair my sagging faith. Like aging skin, faith can lose its strength so gradually that you don’t even notice. It isn’t that I’ve neglected my faith routine any more than I’ve neglected my skin care.
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I hear that there are people who enjoy exercising. They thrive on it.
I’d like to spend some time with this foreign species and soak up some of their enthusiasm and motivation, osmosis-like.
Because I’m more in the exercise-is-really-a-form-of-torture camp. It’s a bit like childbirth for me: painful enough that I need to minimize any aspects that are remotely frustrating in order to pull through it.
I tried walking (not running, mind you) through my neighborhood with my husband and kids. That was stress galore: different paces, fear of cars slamming into children, sippy cups going AWOL…
So, I changed course and crafted a plan I could follow: walking solo on a path of my choosing, the time of day, pace, and duration determined by me alone.
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I gulped hard, forcing a smile as I watched my five year-old slide down the wet strip of yellow. Cold water splashed my shins as he squealed in delight. And still I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
She was too young. She didn’t deserve to go so soon. Yet she’s gone. Just like that.
Try as I might, all I could see was what else I could lose…
Fear was percolating when movement across the lawn caught my eye. I glanced over just in time to see the baby cardinal. He saw me, too, as he hopped over to our rain garden and then quickly took flight.
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If you look closely at my hands you’ll see scratches, puppy nips, a few age spots, and some small scars. That’s what you’ll see. What you won’t see are the ones from lies, accusations, betrayal, and rejection. Those are the scars I usually keep hidden.
Why?
Because scar exposure is risky. Revealing our worst scars gives people the opportunity to judge whether or not we deserve them.
I often wonder why we’re so quick to judge one another. Why we feel the need to ask:
- if a person with lung cancer was a smoker.
- if the accident victim was texting.
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