Lucky to be Texan

The boys and I were talking about St. Patrick's day yesterday.  Jack had learned a little about the holiday from his teacher.  She showed them pictures of Ireland and talked about the history of the holiday.  He learned about leprechauns, pots of gold and the Irish culture.  His teacher is amazing.  we are so "lucky" (read blessed) to have her as Jack's first teacher.  During the conversation I was having with the boys, Jack recounted part of a conversation they had had at school.

When trying to explain what an "Irishman" was, the teacher said to the kids: "All of you were born in Cabot..."

Jack says: "And I raised my hand. And she says: 'Yes, Jack.'  And I said: 'I am not an... an Arkansas.... I am not from Arkansas.  I am from Texas.'"

I grin then ask him what the teacher said next.

Jack: "She said: 'Oh, sorry.'"


Nothing to be sorry about teacher.  Nothing at all --unless you meant you were sorry to accuse him of being from Arkansas.  If so, apology accepted, things like this happen.  We'll move forward from here.

oh, right, I forgot.

It was hard to get up this morning


again.


Twenty-one days to a habit? Maybe, but not when spiritual warfare is involved.


Back in the saddle for four weeks after three months of being too sick and tired to attempt an early rise.


It's still hard.


Day after day of getting up, making coffee and attempting to meet with the Father.


I sit there. In the dark. Alone. Ready to commune. Wanting to feel, to worship, to be spoken to

but.


It's just another quiet night.


I decide to speak, thanking him for his blessings, asking for help, telling him what my friends need from Him.


My thoughts are quickly interrupted by, well, anything...


everything.


Embarrassed I try to return my focus to worshiping my Lord.


I try.


All is quiet.


I get the feeling that I'm not in the throne room. I feel I'm still outside the door, standing there, hands in my pockets, hoping He comes out and scoops me up. But not feeling worthy to knock.


I mean, I know I'm not worthy. There's no debate there. I'm the one who stepped out, over three months ago I told him. "I'm pregnant now, see ya in three months God."


The sickness is over. I'm back.


But my mind can't get over the fact that I stepped out.


What right do I have to go back and say, "I've decided I'm ready to go back to being more than friends." Like the God of the universe is a dog I've kept pinned up all day and now I'm coming back to tell him "Come on boy, I need some affection from you now. Come show me that 'love you forever' kind of love. It's convenient for ME now."


You don't do that! What nerve of me to treat God like a loyal animal.


So I've been sitting here, for four weeks, reading his Word, doing my Bible study, praying, loitering...

outside His door.

Recently I've realized what my deal is. Why I can't just open the door and walk in. Who says I have to knock anyway?

Grace --God's unconditional love and favor toward us

I've forgotten about it.


How could I forget? (I'll blame it on the pregnancy brain.)


It's foundational to what I believe about God:


God is perfect. I am far far from it.
He knows it. He loves me anyway.


My disobedience has made it impossible for me to be near Him.
He knows it. He loves me anyway.

He made a way. His son took my problems, my issues, my selfishness and paid the penalty for it. Because of my acceptance of this gift and my pledge to follow Him, I'm now clean. I'm now perfect in the sight of God.


That's what Grace is.

God knowing how self-centered and ugly my heart is, and He loves me anyway.


I think it's my problem to fix. It's not. Cause I can't fix it.

Holy Trinity, continue to teach me that Christ's righteousness
satisfies justice and evidences thy love; help me to make use of it by faith as
the ground of my peace and of thy favour and acceptance, so that I may live
always near the cross. --M. Vincent

Now if I can just get that through my thick head.