Walk through life and don't fall in to the trap of the comfortable life. Am I falling asleep? It comes slowly and silently. It's harmful to the believer. Maybe not every believer though I doubt that's true. But certainly this believer. The Lord calls us set apart. What beautiful truth. Yet somehow self (this self) is found living like one who has not tasted the sweet redemption song of King Jesus. That may or may not be an exaggeration, nonetheless these words reflect the sickness of my heart. And it hurts and sometimes paralyzes. Like a paralytic under the weight of condemnation. Must.. get.. to.... Jesus.

I'm glad He comes to me.

Wake up, check. Coffee, check. Read daily Bible chapters, check. Go to work, check. Come home, make dinner, check. Wash the dishes. [. . ] wash the dishes [. . .] Oh, those dishes.. OK fine, Wash the dishes.....check.

 And somehow I leave my Lord at home, in the car, or somewhere outside of where I am. Somewhere outside of where I am? What does that even mean. There's more to this story.

When will I get it. When will I get that I have been given everything I need to remain in Him. That is not a question.

Truth: Just believe. Believe He remains in me. Doesn't faith change everything. That's not a question.

My fruit is rotten outside of the Vine of Life. Dead. My best efforts are as filthy rags.
Dear self, unless the Lord builds the house, the builders labor in vain.
Dear self, unless the Lord watches over the city, the guards stand watch in vain.
In vain you rise early and stay up late,
toiling for food to eat -
for He grants sleep [rest?] to those he loves.

Rest. What? REST.

Rest and sleep differ wildly. As St. Augustine wisely and honestly penned, Thou movest us to delight in praising Thee; for Thou hast formed us for Thyself, and our hearts are restless till they find rest in Thee.

Is not rest outside of Him, simply sleep? I can sleep, and be restless. And awake and be tired. Oh, that I would learn to rest in Him.

Dear self, how deeply you are loved. Accept it.
And yesterday. Oh yesterday. What a grip came over my mind. Nothing made sense. Not me or Grace, or works, or faith. Nothing. The enemy came against what had already been won. What's worse, I let him. Well, almost.
Enter fear.

The fears. The antagonist of this story and many like it. That paralyzing, life sucking, weight bearing presence. Oh that word. Fear. The fear that the comforts of this life can somehow grip me from the Hand of my Maker. Almighty God. The fear that somehow what my heart tells me is true, and I should wear my own righteousness like a shawl as I stand before my Maker and man, and everyone would see right through it. The stains, and tears. The seams, don't you see? They fall apart, and I madly sew them back together but it's too late. Truth: I don't know how to sew. I'm in trouble.

Oh, but I know the Truth. And the lies seep in like a fragrant aroma, familiar. Scent is the strongest memory trigger. And I remember this one. Something in me wants to breathe it in. It's up to you and you are failing. That doesn't sound like a pleasant scent. Memories are comforting. Sometimes even unpleasant ones. Sort of like when you get a bruise and it hurts but something in you wants to keep touching it. They remind me who I am and what has happened. Truth: This is not who I am. Blow out this candle. it stinks.

Dear self,

To the one who does not work but trusts God who justifies the ungodly, their faith is credited as righteous. Did Abraham not believe God? And to him it was counted as righteousness. Just believe. For he has made Jesus to be sin for you. He who knew no sin, that you might be made the righteousness of God in him.

Rest.

A Love letter from your King


As a note worth noting for those note-reading folks, on my search for restoration, this wonderful little article found it's way on to my screen and into my heart - On the Imputed Righteousness of Jesus Christ. Thank you, David J. Stewart, whoever you are.

The Imputed Righteousness of Jesus Christ