Dependent On Grace

The blank walls around me provide a stark contrast to  the scenic backdrop I recently enjoyed. Just “four sleeps” ago (as my children count time) we stood looking out at the Atlantic ocean. That simple act was so full, and my mind can recall the details and sensations vividly. My feet felt sand and bits of shells that the waves tirelessly crashed in, then quickly took back out again. I heard the distant calls of seagulls, felt the breeze move my hair, and smelled fish that had just been caught on the pier. I squinted my eyes and looked as far as I could, trying to pinpoint where the ocean and sky met. As I enjoyed this feast of common grace, I couldn’t help but worship the Creator. Because God made everything, he alone determines how it works, and he alone should receive the glory from it all.  
As creator, God knows how all things best function. When he spoke all things into existence he included a pattern, which if followed, will lead to human flourishing. His commands, like “die to …

It happened again this afternoon. I told my kids not to watch a certain show on Netflix, and my seven-year-old daughter immediately responded with, “Why?” Her tone and timing both indicated her inquiry was more of a challenge than a genuine desire for information. There are times when I’m guilty of asking my heavenly Father the same type of “Why?” Yet, there are also moments when I ask the same question with a different heart, going to him in hopes of gaining insight or understanding. As I asked God why he has led me down this path of writing, he brought to mind an answer I often give my own children - “Because I love you, and I know what’s best for you.” He also helped me develop a mission statement for the why of my writing. I write to grow in my belief of who God says I am, to rightly reflect who he is, and to help readers joyfully discover who he’s created them to be.

In an unknowable act of scandalous grace, God chose to awaken me out of spiritual death and give me a brand new ide…

“It doesn’t belong to you.”  A simple truth communicated to children whose hands want to grab what their eye deems lovely. Adulthood picks up responsibility and productivity and reputation, but arms too full sometimes let simple truths slip out. So we lust with our eyes and turn worship inward on self. We view other image-bearers as objects for our own satisfaction. “It doesn’t belong to you.”
Anxiety becomes an unnoticed metronome. We run frantic, either our visible bodies or unseen minds, trying to prove we are worthwhile.  Worth, all the while, was never meant to be determined by us. We want desperately to be deemed loveable, equating the admiration of others with that core longing.  Glory belonging only to God appears so lovely that we snatch at it, with our hands, with our whole selves. “It doesn’t belong to you.”
Childlike trust fades and we buy the lie of self-determination. Masters of our own fate, we pretend our backs don’t bend beneath the weight of autonomy. We cast oursel…

Returning to all that’s familiar is a comfort that has weight. Safety shares a coin with responsibility, and as it flips, all the to-dos flash in a blur. But the One who breathed out the idea of spaces, then filled them all with glorious reflections, is just as in control as when you left. He knows your going and your coming. What you long to lay down and how you will rise up. Nothing you hoped to leave behind or were surprised to pick up along the way is outside of his sovereign hand.

“Many seek the face of a ruler, but it is from the LORD that a man gets justice.” Prov. 29:26
We swap, steal, and sell power like currency. Ignoring the only true source, we window shop one another and stick price tags on our own reflections.  We scoff at Kingdom economy and embrace one we curate, where we fear rejection and vie for acceptance, all from equal sojourners who are fearing and vying in unison. This exhausting dance follows the rhythm that sin ushered in. Because we hand out power, we later come back to collect justice. I buy in to the idea that powerful people can right my wrongs, or write my pardon. I’ve created a carboard bench which I ask to approach and fear a paper gavel.  In the only courtroom that will never crack or crumble, the verdict has already been given.  The scales of mercy and justice balanced perfectly on a cross-beam. My debt has been paid, and my account has been filled with a glorious inheritance. That is a transaction that changes everything.  

Photo …

There’s blood in the water.  The life within now outside.  Elements mixing, swirling. Colors exchanging. Willful vulnerability, because freedom is worth it.  A signal to predators. Blood always means weakness to them. So they turn and come. Priests of old sprinkled it. Today in pews we sing of it.  Ultimate Power within skin chose it let it flow. Comingled together, blood and water. Those who prey misunderstand power. It is not in the snarl or bite, it is in the blood.