Blog #6

I don't know how to start writing about what's in my heart or on my mind right now.  So I'm just going to start tapping away on my little phone screen, we'll see what happens and here we go.

I can't get away from the parable about the soil.  As in its been in two of the last books I have read, it was preached about the last Sunday I was in service and it came up in a discussion just last week.  You can find it in the Bible in Mark 4, here's brief synopsis: A sower (Jesus) throws seeds (The Word) onto four different types of soil (hearts) and all to different ends.  I grew up in church and have intellectually understood that story for a long time.

Here's the rub.  The reason I can't just chalk it up to coincidence: I'm less than confident I am the good soil that multiples its fruit.

Why?

Because I'm sure having a hard time convincing myself that I look, sound or act much like the Jesus I say I love. Like ever.  The fruit of my life is... lacking.

If I love Jesus, I will keep his commands.  He said that.  And not like cutesy, animated, feel good, Sunday school cartoon Jesus.  Real, breathing, flesh and blood soon-to-be-shed-on-my-behalf Jesus. I am to lose my life to gain it.  Pick up my cross.  Love others as myself.  Give out of sacrifice, not just abundance.  I am a sheep among wolves where the harvest is many and the workers are few.  I am to count the cost.  Him and Him alone.

I have "known" this my whole life.  But just over 3.5 years ago it became real.  I read a book written by a man such wiser than me that said it is good to be cautious when people toss around the phrase "God spoke to me" too lightly.  It's not something I commonly use. But the week after Easter, God spoke into my heart as I was walking out to the parking lot. 

"Are you in? It is time to follow Me.  There are no other choices but My way.  Come beloved child."

And I followed.  Eyes ahead, pressing forward, knowing there would be a cost.  I desperately wanted Jesus.  I became a part of deepened friendships, learned to really study the Bible, worshipped like I never had, began to understand what service looks like and began to learn His voice.  I read parts of the Old Testament I ignored as a kid, determined to be wiser than the Israelites.  I was on this path and nothing was getting in my way.

For quite awhile.

But wouldn't you know it?  I still had the seeds and roots of thorny sin down deep in my heart.  And as deeply as I wanted Jesus, those roots were there.  Sure, I started to weed and work but it got hard, and I became afraid.  Being comfortable in church attendance, having at arms length relationships and slowly starting to take back over my life was much, much easier than dealing with that ugliness and hurt.  I got better at hiding.

For a little awhile.

Hiding is miserable.

And now here I am.  Reading Crazy Love for the second time but with a much harder, distant heart.  A heart I certainly didn't desire just over a year ago.   A heart that is burdened by a need for control and safety and not the things of Christ.  There is no escaping the fact that Francis Chan could have added my name to the line "Do not assume you are good soil. [Yea, I'm writing about you Meghan R. Poulos]"

Can thorny, choked out soil become good soil?  Can Jesus take the mess I re-created and use it to His Glory?  Does He even want to?  How many times do I get to come back?

I don't seem to write very happy things.  I'm kinda tired of being a grouch.

Blog #6, lingering.