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Posted
on April 11, 2004
by
Christopher M
For the past
week, I
have been thinking of what I should say in this space that has
been allotted to me. I
actually began to write something on four or five different
occasions, deciding against the topic of my choice each time.
I am still not sure what to say.
Being a student of the arts, writing is something of
which I do a lot. But
this year, more often than not, I have found myself at a loss
for words. I know
why I find myself in such a situation.
Writing is one of the most personal things we
do.
Whether we are jotting down a quick note or piecing
together a doctoral thesis, when we write, we reveal the most
intimate details of ourselves to those who might chance across
our words. They
will see our sloppy penmanship, or our poor spelling, or our
terrible grammar. And
even if we are privileged to be among those who have mastered
such things, we are still vulnerable.
Is there coherence in our thoughts?
Are our views unjustly biased?
Or, leaving all that aside, is everything we say even
right?
Because I write so
much, I am lucky enough to turn out something of merit every
once in a while. With
it, of course, comes a sense of accomplishment.
Unfortunately, that is also the moment at which I am
most likely to succumb to my pride; it is far too easy to
cross that line. And
so, I find myself here - unable to write.
At times when I need my God-given talents most, I
cannot find them. Because
I allow myself to forget that they are just that: given to me
by God.
Over the last twelve or
so months, I have become very much aware of the kind of person
I am. I am human,
and so very frail. Everything
I take for granted - my abilities, my health, my life - can be
taken away in an instant.
And yet despite the temporality of my existence, I
still choose time and again to lead the kind of life that I
know cannot be pleasing to my Creator.
I have often wondered why I am so; flaunting my
disobedience in the face of God.
Now, I know why: that is who I am.
I am that person who stands unawares of whose Presence
it is that I am in. I
am that thief who laughs at a bruised and broken Savior.
And yet even
here, at a
moment in which justice would only be served in my dismissal,
He chooses instead to offer His love.
That is the kind of person He is.
He can look at me, his creation, even as I raise my
fist in defiance and say, "I love you."
And as I see myself through His eyes, I realize that I
am the one who is bruised and broken; needing His love and
healing. So I
come to Him; not with my usual bravado, but just as I am.
I am not strong or wise or good.
I am weak and foolish and evil.
But even though I am all that, I am still found to be
Heaven's child.
I am complete.
In Him.
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