All I can think of is: "This could be me."
I could be looking at myself in the newspaper. It's true. And I dare to say that could be you.
Because, the truth is that we're all capable of the horror that we read about.
We peer out our rose colored glasses and our tinted windows, hoping to see just enough to feel good about ourselves, yet hoping others don't see the real us.
Our own wretchedness does not escape us. We know we are prone to wander. Just one minutia of a second away from an explosion.
We hide that we've had a feast for breakfast. Of our loved one's flesh and bloody heart, perhaps even our own.
Our fear of what others might think of us is warranted because we know we're a fake.
So the moment we read about someone else's bad choices and dare to say we aren't like them is the exact moment we reveal the truth about ourselves.
You know that saying about those who live in glass houses and how they shouldn't throw stones?
Or the one giving permission to those who haven't sinned to throw the first one?
How about the one about first removing the log in your own eye before hissing about his mere speck?
I dare you to toss the stone.
I double-dog dare you to even pick it up.
Jesus didn't scorn a woman caught in adultery. So, the gross, ugly, horrid things you see in the news? His love is deep enough for even them.
The secrets you tuck and hide under your mattress, bury high in the rafters, pocket deep within your heart . . . He allows it all for purpose.
He knows what it takes for you to know Him.
May you know how wide and deep and far is His love for you. And in knowing, may understanding give you the ability to give grace to even them.
Through your love that reaches low -- out of the muck and filth and far away that I go -- may I know you more.
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