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The Lame Beggar

  Acts 3:1-10 1 One day Peter and John were going up to the temple at the time of prayer—at three in the afternoon. 2 Now a man who was lame from birth was being carried to the temple gate called Beautiful, where he was put every day to beg from those going into the temple courts. 3 When he saw Peter and John about to enter, he asked them for money. 4 Peter looked straight at him, as did John. Then Peter said, “Look at us!” 5 So the man gave them his attention, expecting to get something from them. 6 Then Peter said, “Silver or gold I do not have, but what I do have I give you. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk.” 7 Taking him by the right hand, he helped him up, and instantly the man’s feet and ankles became strong. 8 He jumped to his feet and began to walk. Then he went with them into the temple courts, walking and jumping, and praising God. 9 When all the people saw him walking and praising God, 10 they recognized him as the same man who used to sit begging at the tem...
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Psalm 103:1-5

As if the gift of the cross wasn't enough.  As if the sacrifice of His own life wasn’t a great enough display of affection.  My Jesus reaches even further.  He extends His arm of compassion even deeper into my soul.  He Himself is forgiveness in the fullest form.  He didn't despise or reject the lesser evils in my life.   His death was the price for all iniquity.  All my sin. Forgiven.  In full.  The magnitude of my sin was deep, and yet His love for me ran deeper.  Bless the Lord oh my soul.  The washing of my sin, the removal of my transgression.  My brain can't comprehend this kind of mercy.  But He doesn't end this flow of grace at the cross.  His concern does not only consist of my forgiveness.  He wants to heal me.  He cares about every single fiber of my being.  If my soul was sick, I have been made well.  If my body has been bruised by the weight of my iniquity, then I have been healed...
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A Hungry Heart

  I have these instincts.  These things that are woven into the fabric of my being. It’s like this-  When I'm hungry, I anticipate the next meal that I get to partake in.  I know that the solution to this hunger in the pit of my stomach will be solved by the nutrients found in a meal.  My stomach growls.  My mouth waters.  My brain races with the flavors of the food.  I anticipate it.  I know the food is real.  It's there.  It's tangible.  And so the actions that I make until now and my meal are reflective of the simple fact that I trust it will satisfy me.  The meal is coming.  And so, I move through my task a little faster.  I prepare the ingredients.  I plate the meal.  I prepare to eat.  It's what I need.  And I trust that this is the solution for the groaning in my stomach.  My soul does this sometimes.  It's this groaning in the pit of my heart.  And I know it's a longing ...
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Good Friday

 I walked the Via Dolorosa. I went to the place where Jesus was crucified. But to be honest, I don’t remember what it smelt like on the road to Golgotha. I can’t hear the voices along the streets anymore. I can’t even remember the feeling of the Israel sun on my skin, of sweat beading on my forehead, or what that rocky pavement felt like underneath my shoes.  Yes, I have these pictures to prove I was there, but honestly I only pull them out on Easter wknd, or in random conversation.  Can I confess something?  I often do this with my Saviors crucifixion.  I have a marked up Bible & good works to “prove” I have heard the story of the cross. But sometimes I simply forget to experience it. Jesus did what He did not just so I could have a picture of His death on Good Friday.  My Savior went to the extreme so I could live in a constant state of remembrance. The cross on my behalf, yes. His death for my freedom, yes that too… But also,  So I could smell t...
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Anxiety and Burnout

I wake up before my alarm.  The pairing of my heart beating way to many anxious, rhythmic beats, per minute and my blanket encapsulating me like a hug that lasted way too long; isn't exactly rocking me back to sleep.  But actually, my eyes open before the displeasing ring of my alarm, because I feel like I've missed it.  To be honest, I don't even know what “it” is.  But it's as though the reigns of my life were firmly gripped in the palm of my hands as I fell asleep, but through the night they turned to putty, and are slipping through my fingers.  My eyes open to a world that is begging me to be available.  To a schedule that is demanding perfection.  I awake to a body that isn't to my standard, but a brain that over-stimulates at the thought of doing something about it.  I'm waking up to a life that “isn't good enough”, but without a definition of what “good” even is.  As I lay in bed, I begin with one single thought, but after the rollerco...
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