Capfuls of Truth

I’m not sick. I’m saying I’m not sick because, well, I’m not, and also because I never admit when I am actually sick. You following me? I think admitting I’m sick is succumbing to weakness. It’s the equivalent of saying, “Here, evil virus, have my body!” Nope. Not today. Not me. I ain’t sick.

If you could see me sitting here, loaded up with antihistamines, pseudoephedrines and probably lots of other -ines, you might not believe me. If you saw my red eyes, heard my sniffles or caught me sneaking a Ricola to soothe my itchy throat, you might call me a liar. But I’m just not sick, so I don’t really care what you call me. As long as it’s not, you know, sick.

Am I sounding crazy? Blame it on all those -ines. Really, though, I’m not crazy. I know I’m probably sick or, as I prefer to say, have some pretty bad allergies. (Those allergies’ll getcha!) I just prefer to live as though I’m not sick. I’m not going to be sick forever, after all. And it doesn’t make me feel any better to whine about it.

I’ve been reading through Romans (it’s my favorite) this week, and Paul’s letter kind of reminds me of my sickness. Here’s the thing: I’m a sinner. I sin, like, every day. It’d be super easy to get caught up in my sin, to stay in bed and be mopey. But God says I’m dead to sin now. He’s says that, in Jesus, I’m alive to Him. I don’t have time to live for my sin anymore!

So, instead of whining, I just drug myself up on forgiveness, mercy and grace. My sinful equivalent of a runny nose can’t keep me down when I’m drinking Truth by the capful. And just like my bad allergies (you know what I mean), my sin’s not going to last forever, so why let it keep me down?

And, really, Truth is way better than NyQuil.

Don’t Give Up

It’s Tuesday, one of my blogging days. (They’re actually Tuesday and Thursday, not that I’d expect you to know by my not-even-near-perfect record.) I’ve had dinner. I’ve showered. My day is winding down and the last thing I felt like doing was blogging. But then I remembered, it’s Tuesday.

My blogging ritual goes something like this: add a new post, write a sentence, delete said sentence, repeat, abandon ship and grab a life raft (also known as an unfinished draft).

Usually my old drafts contain fragments, half-sentences that jog my memory, or rambling paragraphs about who-knows-what. (Confession: I have a couple rambling paragraphs about finding the perfect wrapping paper. I kind of went overboard on that one.)

The draft I opened tonight contained three words:

Don’t give up.

Sometimes I want to. Sometimes I think it’s too hard and wonder if the effort is worth it. Sometimes I want to turn off the lights, sit in the dark, and hope every problem goes away. And sometimes I do, even though I know they won’t.

But not today. I’m not giving up because God isn’t giving up on me.

All I Need

When I hear people say things like, “I really have a heart for,” or “I have a vision that,” I get kind of jealous. I wish I could join the group of driven spiritual giants who have hearts and passions and visions to change the world. I want to be one of those people who’ve managed to package everything they are and believe into a tagline or mission.

I’d love for you to believe I have it all together.

But I don’t.

The life I lead is messy. I know I’m a dreamer, but sometimes I wonder if I’m a doer. I do things, that’s for sure. But I’m not always sure they’re the right things or the best things or the most exciting things. I care about people, but probably not enough, and definitely not demographically. I’d like to change the world, but I’m not even sure I’m good at changing myself. I know I’ve got the Spirit, but He’s always reminding me I’m still a pretty rotten sinner.

I don’t have a list of goals, I don’t go to the gym, I don’t always do my devotional and I rarely look up the Greek. I hate waking up before the sun and that probably means I lack discipline. I’d rather sit and share a cup of hot chocolate and a hug than stand on a soapbox and share nothing at all. I care more about living now than going to heaven later. I’m still not sure what “being discipled” means, but I’m pretty sure doing more isn’t the answer. I wish I could love more fiercely, but sometimes fear creates distance.

I used to want more and better. More faith, more courage, more discipline. Better goals, better dreams, better me. But now I just want more Jesus, and I think He’s all I need.

I can’t tell you where I’m going, but I know who I’m following. I’m not always sure what or why I’m doing, but I know who’s watching and working and using it for his glory. I might fail at loving you, God or even me, but I know whose love never, ever leaves.

He’s Jesus. And he’s all I need.