Two weeks ago. . . thoughts while working in a coffee shop

And He said. . . “You'd better love, 'cause it’s a wounded world and needs a healing touch.”*

Unable to love freely or sincerely, or well. Desire for the glory of self. Locked in earthly vision with an incapacity for heavenly gaze. Colossians 3. Seeing people walk by all around—a student; a classy lady; a Russian man; an overweight lady; an unhappy lady; a couple gays, one with dyed red hair; the barista from Rococo’s—Charley; a bride-to-be—anticipating marriage tomorrow with her two girlfriends; two mothers with their children; a student from Biola; a depressed wife; a self-possessed little girl; a swaggering gentleman; groups of friends; a self-fulfilled middle-aged-crisis man; ring on the wrong finger. . . all these people-portraits, they’re all stories and I know it. I can’t ignore that they all carry hurt.

And Sionna is at home fighting darkness, demons.

Mom has been sleepless, deprived, diminished for years now.

Where am I in all this?

I, who have failed constantly, who can’t seem to love at all; who is cruel to those nearest and dearest; who gives annoyance to a needy sister; who snaps at a tired mother; who cares only for the concerns and needs of self; who dishonors Christ at every turn; who hates when given love; who shuns those who love me most; who lives a lie when I’ve been given God—by God.

Sometimes my life just don’t make sense at all. And the mountains look so big, and my faith just seems to small.*

What it comes down to—I fail to believe my good God. Deep down, I feel that He’s holding out on me. Because this summer was never supposed to turn out this way. It was supposed to be a golden, glorious deepening of the love between two people, the continued forging of life together, enjoyment of relationship. But what we once had is gone, completely. Faded, ripped, denied us. Instead, this summer been one long string of disappointments, discouragements, diminishments.

Surrender don’t come natural to me. I’d rather take something I don’t really want than what you give and I need.*

I want comfort, security, pleasure. He prunes me, disciplines me as a son.

May I take pleasure in the given good. Dive into His will as into a wave. May I forget self and find my delight in bringing Him glory. May I learn to love others fully, deeply, no matter how much it costs me. May I learn obedience through what I suffer, even as Jesus—the perfect Son in whom I find my only identity.

 

*song lyrics from artist Rich Mullins