Sinking into that place of my very soul, his words caressed my heart. Her picture could not be made right in my world where I did not want people to hurt like this. I passed him in a quick stroll, yet the image of his obvious suffering is implanted in my brain. The stories where we connect, where our lives look upon someone and we stop and we do something: we FEEL.
This is my God. He is not a list of rules. He is not a scale that measures our good and our bad. He is a man, God in human flesh, come to place his hand on the leper that is outcast of society. He is the only religion that turns his eyes away from the rich man that follows the law to the broken sinner at his feet and declares, “I love you.”
I am the sick man! I am the sinner! I need THAT GOD! Religion of the Western world has become a debate, a contest, a free for all to decide your own way.
As for me and my house, we will chose the Lord! I do not chose myself, I fail! I do not chose a God of rules, I can not. I can not do it on own, of my own effort, my own will, my own record. My past is too unforgiving! I need a Savior! I need the forgiver of sins and the healer of diseases and the giver of peace.
His words speak to me. His story is mine. He chose me and I accept. This is my God, hear me proclaim. Let there be not doubt, no blurr in my words. No question on my face. So that when she, with her sin and her suffering quickly pass by, let her see and never forget something that can change her life forever: my God!
Here is my story, my life. I share my details and my hopes here daily. What is your story? Your thorn in your side and your hope of all the wrongs undone? Please comment.