The more I read the Word, the more I realize how filthy and pathetic I am. The more I see of my own shortcomings, the more I want to follow the example of Christ. The more I learn about Jesus, the more undeserving I feel. The more I realize my own unworthiness, the more I understand how overwhelmingly loved I am. And the more I see God's perfect, selfless love, the more I want to read His Word.
WHAT is the DEAL?!
What is it about Christ that draws me irresistibly to him? Despite having light shed on my filthiness, shortcomings, and unworthiness... I can't stay away.
I know do bad things and I know I'm not a good person. Anyone who thinks they're a good person is lying to themselves... But then there's this guy who was actually perfect, and he chose to go and get himself crucified. And then he said that it was for me; for the stuff I've done. And that what he did washes all that crap away.
And if I could, in my selfishness, I think I'd prefer to take that 'get outta Hell free card' and leave this crazy radical to his ethereal schemes, continuing to live my life the way I want to.
But something about him just doesn't let me do that. Something about his bleeding, broken body calls me back to the foot of the cross to gaze at his horrific suffering and death, and just...
Worship. Cry out. Be humbled. Mourn over my sin. Give up control of my live. Repent and turn from my disgusting monstrosities. Learn and grow in my understanding of the Creator of the universe. And fight against my evil nature until the day I'm called home.
His irresistible, selfless, undeserved love draws me in, making me hate myself, while giving me the ability, the strength, the conviction, and the desire to change who I am, soli deo gloria.
Submit yourselves therefore to God.
Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.
Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you.
Cleanse your hands, you sinners,
and purify your hearts, you double-minded.
Be wretched and mourn and weep.
Let your laughter be turned to mourning and your joy to gloom.
I'm sitting in the union, trying to work on an essay but getting distracted by the plethora of Mark Driscoll sermons available online. I'm sitting in a cushy armchair, munching on dry lucky charms and wishing I had headphones so I could listen to music. I'm sitting by a window, watching the snow and contemplating God's sovereignty. I'm sitting near a guy and a girl who are in a relationship, a couple that has been there for an hour and barely spoken 10 words to each other.
They walked in together.
They found a pair of chairs.
They each pulled out their fancy shmancy smart phones and never looked back.
Do you s'pose they're in love? Do you s'pose they think they are?
I mean, I know I don't know them...
But...
That can't be what it's s'posed to look like.
Things that always make me feel better: Prayer. Reading Donald Miller. Being cozy. Watching glorious sunsets. Getting a back rub that's so good it hurts. Feeling pretty. Going on walks at night. Listening to Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong. Jumping in puddles. Painting. Hearing the Truth. Drinking raspberry chai. Hugs. Assurance that God knows what He's doing.
-anybody who has ever noticed how many paper cranes I make daily.
Well...
I need to be doing something with my hands
------ otherwise I have a hard time listening.
Possible ADD? Not sure...
I used to doodle.
Teachers got mad.
I started biting my nails.
Mom got mad.
In the 7th grade, I watched David Lee make a paper crane.
I watched and learned and began clumsily making little birds of my own.
Teachers didn't yell when flammable avians began appearing on their bookshelves, my mom could handle the tiny creatures cluttering the counters around our house (as long as you could see some white at the ends of my nails), and I was able to pay attention in AP U.S. History; everybody's happy.
As a bonus, my long nails are helpful in making irrationally tiny cranes, which other people always seem to get a kick out of.
After a while I could do it with my eyes closed.
It might be conservative to say that I make lots of them.
I don't know what my point is.
I've just noticed recently
that tons of people I know associate me with paper cranes.
I like it, I think...
But it's a little odd.
I suppose I can see how this random useless talent might be endearing to people. The end result --a paper bird-- isn't what I'm in it for; I just need to be doing something with my hands. Though, I do enjoy the look of joyful fascination on peoples' faces when I place a minuscule bird in front of them.
