Tuesday, September 27, 2016


The farther I wander down the road with Jesus, the less room I have in my life for the stuff that doesn’t challenge me, call me out of sin, or wring me inside-out. I want to grow, even though I know it’s probably  going to hurt. I’ve tend to live in a comfortable cocoon, wrapped carefully (tightly) in the bands of scripture that make me feel warm and safe and comfortable, while conveniently ignoring the parts that squeeze too tight, sometimes even rejecting them outright, for the havoc their impact will have on my conscious. I’ve molded scripture to suit my liking, and lived beneath it, foolishly thinking I was living in the fullness of God, while feverishly trying to re-write my life in a way that wouldn’t cost me too much.

More lately than ever, scripture has grabbed me by the neck and wrings me out again and again. With every twist, I become less, and it’s exactly as it should be. I’ve grown in gratitude for the ways God brings me to the edges of myself. Not because I like it, but because it means I am closer to Him. I don’t love to surrender, but I love Jesus and the only way to get closer to Him is to let Him have His way in me. The only way to be full of Christ is to not be full of me.

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