A few years ago, I watched one of my best friends get baptized. He went down into the water and came up in a fury. The heavens seemingly opening up. For a moment, I could hear Angles singing from above, the voices and melodies from heaven. I quickly realzed though, that it was the old man next to me singing waaaaay out of tune. But in that moment, his song, his prayer, was music to our ears.
I watched as tears fell down his face and my heart began to pound. Somehow I felt vindicated. Reassured. It reminded me of what so many throughout history had experienced before. Jesus Christ himself making our hearts his home.
For me, the greatest evidence for God isn’t strewn across the pages intellectual magazines and books; it’s found in the lives of those within whom Jesus is living.
Having the God of the universe abiding in you is a powerful thing, but it doesn’t mean you’ll be perfect. It’s a dilemma that spans the history of humankind. One only needs to look at my life and see. Since God settled down in my heart more than 10 years ago I’ve fucked up plenty. I’ve lied and stolen and treated those who I love, those with whom God has entrusted me, those who have given me opportunities with distrust and bitterness.
And yet, I am reminded that the story of the Gospel is a story of grace and forgiveness and redemption. It’s a story wrought with failure. It’s a God determined on trudging through the mud to save us. It’s the story of a sheep being lost, a coin missing and a God, a savior, a friend searching.
There is a song I learned when I was a kid, a song that brings comfort to me at such a time as this.
"He’s still working on me
To make me what I need to be
It took him just a week to make the moon and stars
The sun and the earth and Jupiter and Mars
How loving and patient He must be
‘Cause He’s still workin’ on me”
Inspired by Belovedpippa.tumblr.com
Sincerely with tears,