Consuming moments for myself, I focus a lot on me. How can I can grow and how can I be better are questions that have obsessed me and contorted my view of what the purpose of life is all about.
Selfish ambition and personal gain are admittedly what I sometimes want more than anything else.
I am known to sacrifice peace for comfort now. I take advantage of Christ and tend to take His grace for granted.
I know that God forgives and redeems, and honestly I tend to shelve what I should do for temporary self-satisfaction.
A vacation-like life is what I so often want. I dream of far-off places where people are always smiling, the weather is always warm, and the only sound is the swooshing of the ocean on the sand.
I want every part of my day to be happy and I gulp up those kind of moments as though my mouth is bone-dry parched. Dipping my hands in, I cup to receive -- and I gulp.
Receive and gulp.
I'm not a very good giver. I begrudge people when I do, blaming them for the parts I want that have to wait -- the sweet dessert that I worry I'll never have; that might be all gone by the time that I can.
When life gets painfully awkward or uncomfortable, I want to ditch everything and run away.
I know that not every moment will be pleasant and that heroes are made in the grit and the muck. Those whose sustenance is drawn from the mire are refined through the fire, I get that.
The folks who stay and do, and roll up their sleeves to really work at fighting the wanting for self pleasure are admiring and sometimes so enviable. And frankly, I'll never be as good as them.
Comparison kills my content and keeps me from compassion (mostly toward self), I know this.
It's hardly life that I bring into moments when I want perfect and pretty and plain ol' happy. Stubbornness and rigidity leave me stiff and corpse-like, withered and frail.
I want everything my way and I'll risk nearly everything to get it, including my very life that sometimes stands on the edge of temptation, poised to give all of me away.
There is a part of me, though, that comes into each moment and imbibes on a slice of simple assuredness. It's a thin place where I accept all that is. Where I am willing to sleep on the floor, stand in the rain, and sit in the dark. Where I know more than a thousand gifts of beauty lie.
When I come into a moment with my hands cupped, presenting even a little bit of me that breathes in all as it is, I am presenting an offering of what I think pleases God most -- kind of like the widow and her two mites who gave what she had to live on.
It's not the forced, stiff, polished self that He wants. He's not looking for the kind of resignation that gives up and surrenders the whole: giving a shit. He's looking for the part that says "yes" to this, whatever it is -- as it is. The what. ever. because I know it's just better.
There are times when my hands aren't just cupped to receive; sometimes I cup to present. It might be that most of me drips out and dies as I selfishly gain, yet a little bit of my life still actually lives.
When I bring into moments the little part of me that is full and that is free, that really is enough, and He really is pleased.
this is my worship.