The words came out of my mouth this past Saturday, around a table of ladies.
I think I loved my church more than I loved God and well, He saw fit to take it from me.
The words stung because they were, they are, true.
I’ve been a Christian for nearly 30 years, but I think I’ve only truly been a Christ follower for a mere 15 years.
Maybe even less than that.
I think I’ve spent the bulk of that time, those 15 or so years, viewing my relationship with Christ as the means by which I get the good, right things in life: the husband, the kids, the house, the
dog, the friends, the eternal life.
And I’ve spent the last year of my life knowing that my relationship with Christ is the means by which I learn to lose everything: the husband, the kids, the house, the friends, the community, the church, and most of all, me.
I’ve rolled that one sentence, the one about God taking the church from me, around in my brain for 3 days now and this morning, I find myself wanting to hide out under the bed covers. I want to escape all of this… the kids, the housework, the people who need more than I can ever give, the pastor who dreams big dreams and longs for me to dream with him, the pressures of making a life and maintaining relationships, the church planting, me.
And if I’m honest, some days I want to escape Jesus.
There are some days when I wear this life with Jesus like a millstone around my neck and sometimes I wonder if life would be easier without Him.
To not have the Holy Spirit constantly wrecking my wants, my plans, my life.
To be able to walk blind to the spiritual and satisfy only the flesh.
To not know the war being waged within me, day in and day out.
To not feel sorrow with the joys.
To not have to choose whether or not to die to self.
Every. Single. Day.
To live for me is easy.
To live for Christ is something else entirely.
It’s passion week, the days leading up to Christ’s death, burial, and resurrection. We walk through remembrance of Him and lay low at the foot of the cross and hand over another bit of our life.
It’s true, you know, the continual laying down a bit of our life. We’re never done, not this side of heaven, anyway,
This laying down our lives, the little pieces of us that we long to hold onto, the everyday death of ourselves, is how we learn to live full.
And so I fight the urge to hide today. I war against myself and hand over another bit of me and it’s not easy, this slow death.
But it is how I learn to fully live.
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