The kids are out in the yard, pretending to be Christopher Columbus and a bunch of indians and I’m in here at the desk, watching the clock and pecking keys that spell words that I keep deleting.
I thought I would sit down and words would flow from my mind to my fingerprints and I would be done in an hour. Not so, it seems.
I’m uncomfortable with even the thought of me. If you know me at all, you know I wear black everyday.
Every single day.
I feel safe in black, white, grey and all shades of denim.
So this exercise of seeking to see God’s grace in my life and then put it on the screen is really a task that I wish I had not committed to. Today, I’d rather journal about ministry and house churches and authentic community. I feel like I can dump words on you about those things without revealing a lot about me, but really, I can’t.
I belonged to Jesus before I was born. My mama gave me to Him, while she carried me in her belly.
And the second my body slipped into this world, I believe that Satan had his eye on me.
Before I knew about Jesus or the cross or what sin was, he set out to derail me. And he still does…all the time.
I feel like I lose more battles that I win.
From the outside looking in, I had an amazing childhood. And really, from the inside looking out, I did.
I had parents who loved each other and their four kids. We lived in a great house in a rural farming community with a pool and a converted pack house (tobacco barn) that became a fun hangout spot as I was a teenager. We attended the local Baptist church where all of my dad’s family also attended. Both sets of my grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins lived within a few miles of each other. I went to fantastic schools and had dozens of friends and I always had a reason to smile.
Life was good.
Life is good.
I trusted Christ when I was young, at 7 or 8 years of age. I was baptized, enrolled in the Survival Kit for new believers, joined the 66 club (books of the bible), served in Vacation Bible School, and I was really good at being good.
I was Baptist for goodness sakes.
By the time I was in junior high school, I had taken Experiencing God, served on my youth group council, been on mission trips, and never missed a Sunday night service in years.
I was good and I liked being good.
This was Satan’s first lie and I bought it. Gladly.
Who would have thought Satan would choose to clothe himself in the deception of goodness?
Being good became by badge of honor and it would continue to serve me well until my junior year of high school.
Or so I thought.