Did you go shopping this past weekend? New clothes for the holiday, groceries for that special Easter meal--maybe a little fast food or Starbucks to sustain you as you prepared for that special Easter meal? If so, did you think to check the price? I don't mean just what was written on the tag (or the menu), but the fine print. Way down in the corner where it reads, "Cost includes a little of your life blood."
OK, so who talks about blood in a blog? A bit of a downer, don't you think? Hang with me here. You see, most of us ponder the true cost of our time and effort about as often as we completely read the user agreements for all that software we download. But the reality is that, consciously or not, we are indeed investing our very existence into what we purchase. The money that bought it required time that could have been spent elsewhere, demanded energy and focus that are definitely expendable resources. I am purchasing my "stuff" with the stuff of life--my very self.
As I was reading this morning, it occurred to me that God went shopping, too. He didn't go to the bargain rack, though. He paid the highest price possible--His very self. All of it. So what was it that He believed was worth such an investment? Our freedom. Colossians tells us, "God purchased our freedom with His blood . . . " (1:14). He could have had anything He wanted with His life on earth--could have demanded His rightful recognition and status, could have lived in great luxury, comfort, and fame. But instead, He decided to pay His life to give true life--freedom from death--to us, and to do without the "good things in life" (like a house of His own) here on earth.
So, where does that leave us? Yes, I'm going to the grocery store later today. And I'm not likely to forever swear off Starbucks. But reflecting on the intentionality of Christ's investment should at minimum cause me to ponder what I'm purchasing with my blood (read time, effort, and yes--money). Maybe today I can invest a portion of my resources to bring more peace into someone's life, to invest into someone else's future, to help bring an increment of freedom to another.
And maybe tomorrow.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
Dissing Doubt
My grandmother read the dictionary on a regular basis. She kept meticulous records of everything in her life in the days before computers. She was truly an amazing woman. Her admirable attention to detail had a significant drawback, however: worry. She used to say, "I worry--that's just what I do." We all knew that was who Grandma was, how she was made, and didn't question the validity of her assessment.
When difficult situations arose throughout the years and worry gripped my heart, I would find myself thinking, "That's just my personality. Just who I am." I wished I didn't have to worry, but I couldn't help myself.
Now I know better. Worry is not inevitable or "just part of who I am." It is a conscious choice to believe that God is unable to take care of me.
In Philippians 4, Paul tells us that we should not worry about anything, but should take our needs to God and leave them there, thanking Him for everything He's already done. Our thanksgiving becomes an altar of sorts, a personal place of remembrance and encouragement that, just as God has won in the past, He's got this victory covered as well. We should remember, though, that Paul was writing these words from prison, in chains. He wrote elsewhere of the litany of things he experienced "often": cold, hunger, threats from the government and others, near-death. Often. Yet he did not worry. This was a man who had seen the risen Christ and knew Him. Knew that, beyond a shadow of a worry, He was able to work all things for his good, and that every spiritual blessing in Christ Jesus was his. Yes, Paul had self-proclaimed daily pressures and concerns about the churches he had planted, but concern is not worry. Worry doubts. Worry is double-minded, being tossed to and fro between the hope of God's care and the fear of God's insufficiency.
I choose to declare by the grace of God that the grace of God is more than sufficient. That's not just "who I am"--that's who He is. No worries.
When difficult situations arose throughout the years and worry gripped my heart, I would find myself thinking, "That's just my personality. Just who I am." I wished I didn't have to worry, but I couldn't help myself.
Now I know better. Worry is not inevitable or "just part of who I am." It is a conscious choice to believe that God is unable to take care of me.
In Philippians 4, Paul tells us that we should not worry about anything, but should take our needs to God and leave them there, thanking Him for everything He's already done. Our thanksgiving becomes an altar of sorts, a personal place of remembrance and encouragement that, just as God has won in the past, He's got this victory covered as well. We should remember, though, that Paul was writing these words from prison, in chains. He wrote elsewhere of the litany of things he experienced "often": cold, hunger, threats from the government and others, near-death. Often. Yet he did not worry. This was a man who had seen the risen Christ and knew Him. Knew that, beyond a shadow of a worry, He was able to work all things for his good, and that every spiritual blessing in Christ Jesus was his. Yes, Paul had self-proclaimed daily pressures and concerns about the churches he had planted, but concern is not worry. Worry doubts. Worry is double-minded, being tossed to and fro between the hope of God's care and the fear of God's insufficiency.
I choose to declare by the grace of God that the grace of God is more than sufficient. That's not just "who I am"--that's who He is. No worries.
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