One would assume the older one gets, the easier it is to be good.
At least that’s what I used to think.
But after the last month, I’m convinced it only gets more difficult and I’m embarrassed to sit here writing this to you because the words I write are suppose to encourage, to be uplifting, inspiring everyone that it really isn’t so hard… this being good thing. But as I pick up my pen, I glance at the mantle clock and watch the pendulum swing, back and forth, and I am called to be real… to push past any desire of wearing a plastic smile because time is too short to be fake.
“Lord, I come in weakness…”
When we rely on Him the most, then are we the strongest.
I’ve been told that all my life but somewhere along the way, after hearing the same thing over and over, it’s hard to believe it when I no longer feel it; it’s hard to recognize this immense need for Him on more than a surface level.
Because I like to be independently faithful. And only when I know it’s out of control do I call on Him; only then do I switch to being dependently faithful.
Until today, I never thought how anything less than being dependent on Him in everything is really not being faithful at all. And when I realized this, I found myself grappling with the very core of my faith.
While I mulled this over, I sat on our front porch looking out at nothing and everything, just breathing in and out; breathing air void of Him, seeing the earth without looking through His eyes.
“Satan only tempts you with those things which are the biggest inroad to the ruination of your Salvation.”
The words spoken at church came back to me, carried on the wings of the wind and settling on the step beside me; a reminder of my failed faith… or lack thereof.
“I’ve been using God as my backup…”
I talk about Him in third person instead of to Him and I know that something is amiss; somehow my selfishness and independence has ruined our relationship; a ruined Salvation.
“…the biggest inroad to the ruination of your Salvation.”
The words wrap themselves around me, hugging me tight and I know evil has almost won.
I stand up, look across the lawn one last time and go inside.
Once inside, I find my place at the computer and write these words to you about a failed faith.
And now, just before closing, I hear the words, could it be God? Oh please, let it be Him.
“You first have to name the problem before you can fix it.” I know it is Him because I love this voice, the reassurance and comfort found within.
“I will fix this,” I reply. “I will fix us. No, no… that’s wrong. You Lord, and only You can fix us. Will you please?”