The pain was deep, raw. As I told a friend, I felt as if I'd been gutted. I knew it wasn't intentional, but this knowledge didn't soften the blow. Because I carried on as usual I knew the other party wasn't aware of my feelings, but that was poor comfort.
I stewed. I grappled with the ugliness of my emotions. I sought counsel from others who were removed from the situation. I asked them to pray. I prayed. I carried the hurt around for a while. Finally, when I was too weary to carry it any longer or any further, I relented and asked God to carry it for me.
And He did.
As He gracefully circumcised my heart (Deut. 10:16), He fixed my gaze on His truth. He showed me that even in this, He is molding me.
In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials,so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the …
There is a weight to this life; the responsibilities of being a mother, a wife, a daughter, a friend. I give them over to God, placing them on the scales and hoping against hope that they will equalize the balance.
Consider what I’ve sacrificed!
Notice how much I’ve loved!
See how hard I’ve worked!
And still I come up wanting. No matter how much I seek to find my worth in the works I place in the tray, I can never measure up. My attempts to balance the scales are vain foolishness.
The words of Augustus Toplady reverberate in my mind.
Nothing in my hand I bring, Simply to the cross I cling; Naked, come to Thee for dress; Helpless look to Thee for grace.
-Rock of Ages
There is a weight to this life; the fallen world and my sinful nature nearly crush me some days. I wonder if I will be able to bear them much longer. Yet even as I anticipate the day when their heaviness will be lifted from me, I trust...
For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weig…
Each time I leave my neighborhood - my comfort zone - I am faced with a choice. I cannot go straight ahead. I must choose, left or right.
To the right, and I will be met with rocks, potholes and dust. Yet it is quicker, and I often turn that way when I am in a hurry.
To the left, and I will find sheep grazing and a church that rose from the ashes. The lightning strike is emblazoned on my memory, much like the flames that burst forth and the black smoke that seemed to hover for days. In one brief moment I saw God aim His power to consume a temple constructed by man. He had something greater for His people.
I can reach my destination by either path.
The bumpy road or the smooth one.
The parched earth or the green pasture.
The choice is mine. I wrestle it more often than I should. Most days I instinctively turn to the easy route, but some days I involutarily choose the other. I set my jaw to absorb the jarring, squint against the dust, and pray I'm not causing any permanent damage …