Lord, I love you, but don't make me say so too loudly.
Lord, I love to sing praises to you, but don't make me sing that old one.
Lord, I love your word, but don't make me go to bible class and learn it.
Lord, I love all your children, but don't make talk to that one.
Lord, I want to live for you, but don't make me uncomfortable.
Lord, I want to wear the name Christian, but don't make me act differently than my peers.
Lord, I want you to provide for me, but don't make me look at that homeless man.
Lord, I want everyone to go to heaven, but don't make me tell anyone about you.
Lord, I want to pray to you, but don't make me do it in public or when I'm busy.
Lord, I want to be with you, but don't make me give up my life.
Lord, I want my family to be a part of your church, but don't make me change our schedule.
Lord, I want you to forgive me, but don't make me forgive them.
Lord, I believe you are more powerful than anything, but don't make me obey.
Lord, I love you, but don't make me love you too much.
Are we so reliant on the grace of God that we forget our first love?
Praise GOD for grace.
God forgive us for living a lie of a false commitment. May we each strive to live dangerously, to walk courageously, and to stand firm, all for the cause of Christ. May we each forget ourselves and this farce we call our reality, our life, and instead work toward what is real, the eternal.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Seriously Spiritual on Sunday, Mindlessly Mediocre on Monday.
On Sunday we remember Jesus. His love and grace renews us. The sins of Saturday are gone, forgotten, and forgiven. On Sunday we are rejuvenated and prepare to face a new week alive again because of Christ's sacrifice. Songs of love and victory fill our hearts and minds. Sunday reawakens us to an exhilarating state of forgiveness, and we welcome another Monday. We dare another Monday to drag us down. We defy Monday to bring us to our knees because we are forgiven and loved. We are Spirit-filled and holy. We are loving, Christ-focused, and joyous to be believers...on Sunday.
Monday greets us with cloud covered skies and a grumpy five-year-old that ate the last of the Cheerios out of a dirty bowl after spilling milk all over the new carpet. Our first precious sip of coffee now resides on our only clean pair of work pants, and the dog decides to use our new shoes for a chew toy. By mid-morning we are considering at what age the elderly should not be allowed to drive because, after-all, if it was not for that ninety-year-old we would be at work by now. At lunch, despair hits when we hear of another co-worker losing their job. We wonder if we are next and if we will ever be able to pay off the car loan. We sit in angry isolation in a line of traffic after we cut off a guy in a jeep who quickly offers an obscene gesture to show appreciation. Dinner does not even make it to the table, as half the family is somewhere else; dance lessons, ball practice, or late meetings. We scarf down too much spaghetti sometime during the evening news and watch as across the world another one-hundred people die due to war or a natural disaster. We wonder where God exists in death and suffering as we look around our empty house and feel the desperation of loneliness. As we climb into our warm bed and experience silence, the stress of the day weighs heavy in our minds, and it is hard to even muster the energy to word a prayer...on Monday.
On Sunday, Christianity is easy. On Sunday, we make one of two choices, to fill our spiritual tanks to make through the next week or to play the social club game of “I’m alright, you’re alright”. Either way, Sunday is a breeze.
All too soon on Monday, life gets in the way and the ease of Christianity is long gone. Monday has a tendency to rot every fruit of the spirit we learned about the day before. Monday brings us back down to earth.
Monday does not change the Savior.
Tuesday’s crises does not alter God’s plan for you.
Wednesday’s hectic schedule does not make Jesus less important.
Thursday’s round of lay-offs does not deplete our Provider.
Friday’s loneliness never leaves you unloved by your Creator.
Saturday’s mistakes will not ever stop His forgiveness.
Let me suggest that if there is only room for spirituality on Sunday, you are not experiencing Christianity at all. Christianity is not a weekend past time and is not a social club. Christianity is faith in times of trouble, and kindness where it’s not deserved. Christianity is friendship with those outside of your comfort zone. Christianity is a daily task, a never-ending occupation. It is not for the faint-hearted or for the easily swayed, because Monday comes to destroy all memories of Sunday. If Christianity is nothing more to you than an hour of social time on Sunday, then Monday will do it's job quite successfully.
Monday will come. It will bring terrors. The best of us will introduce Sunday to Monday and have a better week because of it.
Monday greets us with cloud covered skies and a grumpy five-year-old that ate the last of the Cheerios out of a dirty bowl after spilling milk all over the new carpet. Our first precious sip of coffee now resides on our only clean pair of work pants, and the dog decides to use our new shoes for a chew toy. By mid-morning we are considering at what age the elderly should not be allowed to drive because, after-all, if it was not for that ninety-year-old we would be at work by now. At lunch, despair hits when we hear of another co-worker losing their job. We wonder if we are next and if we will ever be able to pay off the car loan. We sit in angry isolation in a line of traffic after we cut off a guy in a jeep who quickly offers an obscene gesture to show appreciation. Dinner does not even make it to the table, as half the family is somewhere else; dance lessons, ball practice, or late meetings. We scarf down too much spaghetti sometime during the evening news and watch as across the world another one-hundred people die due to war or a natural disaster. We wonder where God exists in death and suffering as we look around our empty house and feel the desperation of loneliness. As we climb into our warm bed and experience silence, the stress of the day weighs heavy in our minds, and it is hard to even muster the energy to word a prayer...on Monday.
On Sunday, Christianity is easy. On Sunday, we make one of two choices, to fill our spiritual tanks to make through the next week or to play the social club game of “I’m alright, you’re alright”. Either way, Sunday is a breeze.
All too soon on Monday, life gets in the way and the ease of Christianity is long gone. Monday has a tendency to rot every fruit of the spirit we learned about the day before. Monday brings us back down to earth.
Monday does not change the Savior.
Tuesday’s crises does not alter God’s plan for you.
Wednesday’s hectic schedule does not make Jesus less important.
Thursday’s round of lay-offs does not deplete our Provider.
Friday’s loneliness never leaves you unloved by your Creator.
Saturday’s mistakes will not ever stop His forgiveness.
Let me suggest that if there is only room for spirituality on Sunday, you are not experiencing Christianity at all. Christianity is not a weekend past time and is not a social club. Christianity is faith in times of trouble, and kindness where it’s not deserved. Christianity is friendship with those outside of your comfort zone. Christianity is a daily task, a never-ending occupation. It is not for the faint-hearted or for the easily swayed, because Monday comes to destroy all memories of Sunday. If Christianity is nothing more to you than an hour of social time on Sunday, then Monday will do it's job quite successfully.
Monday will come. It will bring terrors. The best of us will introduce Sunday to Monday and have a better week because of it.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Dinnertime discovery has children begging to eat veggies.
Several weeks ago I found some beautiful asparagus at the grocery store. Asparagus is one of my personal favorites. Much to my chagrin, my children did not share my delight in the green spring veggie.
My husband, Dave, irritated with our children's picky behavior, discovered a brilliant way to convince, at least the boys, to chow down regardless of their opinionated disdain for the healthy side dish. Out of sheer genius and comedic value I thought I'd share this discovery with you. Apparently, if you personify the vegetable and give it a voice, per se, your dining experience alters exponentially. Here's what you do...
Take asparagus, or any other discarded veggie, stab it with your fork and scream, "Don't eat me! Don't eat me! Please NOOOOOO!" At this point you bite off the end of the veggie and say, "Oooooh, I bit off his head." Continue killing off the veggies in such a way until the entire veggie clan is annihilated.
I guarantee that it will work. Your kids will undoubtedly be murdering innocent vegetables for the rest of dinner time. Of course, ketchup adds to the fun and gore, but only use if you don't mind PG-13 slaughterings.
My husband, Dave, irritated with our children's picky behavior, discovered a brilliant way to convince, at least the boys, to chow down regardless of their opinionated disdain for the healthy side dish. Out of sheer genius and comedic value I thought I'd share this discovery with you. Apparently, if you personify the vegetable and give it a voice, per se, your dining experience alters exponentially. Here's what you do...
Take asparagus, or any other discarded veggie, stab it with your fork and scream, "Don't eat me! Don't eat me! Please NOOOOOO!" At this point you bite off the end of the veggie and say, "Oooooh, I bit off his head." Continue killing off the veggies in such a way until the entire veggie clan is annihilated.
I guarantee that it will work. Your kids will undoubtedly be murdering innocent vegetables for the rest of dinner time. Of course, ketchup adds to the fun and gore, but only use if you don't mind PG-13 slaughterings.
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