Make Room

I’m not sure I’ve ever come across two more dangerous words. I’ve been listening to the set this morning, pouring over all the notes and movements that occur in the front, in the middle, toward the end…and I found it interesting that I kept thinking, “We need more space.”  

And then, on my Spotify playlist, Make Room comes on. The song cascading into my ears, invading, consuming any and all the sound around me (thanks in-ears at Starbucks).

 

I will make room for you. I didn’t even get fifteen seconds into the song, and I am confronted with a choice. I will… I WILL make room. Again, it’s dangerous because of these type of phrases—these words in particular. Am I making that decision daily? And here’s the ironic thing about making room. When I need to make more room anywhere or with anything (an actual room, in my schedule, or in a planning center set), it means taking something out. 

 

The question embedded in the decision is this: What else crowds out the room? The room of my mind? The room of my heart? The room of my spirit? What’s in there that takes me further away from Jesus—not closer? What hurts, what past mistakes keep me congested? What’s the thing that keeps me from MORE of Jesus?

 

It is certainly not to judgement—because I am at the front of the line—the chief sinner as Paul said, but its only something you can answer. I have mine and you have yours. Again, the song says, this is MY surrender… as in, I can’t do it for you, and you can’t do it for me.

 

The sad reality of how we live today is that there is so much noise—so much distraction. It’s actually quite easy to justify pushing Jesus out. He’s inconvenient at times. He makes us live differently than the world around us. He challenges us to go against the flow—not to be in prideful opposition of the hurting and those unlike us—but to hold to the conviction of His Word, while equally loving those far from Him. 

 

And passage that stands out to me…in both versions is Romans 12:2. In the Message, the language is quite beautiful and cutting…

 

So, here’s what I want you to do, God helping you: Take your everyday, ordinary life—your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life—and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for him. Don’t become so well-adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking. Instead, fix your attention on God. You’ll be changed from the inside out. Readily recognize what he wants from you, and quickly respond to it. Unlike the culture around you, always dragging you down to its level of immaturity, God brings the best out of you, develops well-formed maturity in you.

 

Shake up the ground, of all my tradition, 

break down the walls of all my religion, 

Your way is better…

 

It may be more familiar in the ESV…

 

Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect. Romans 12:2

 

Chris Caine says it this way, and every time, I chuckle at it. She says, “It doesn’t say by the removal of your mind, but renewal.” God has given us the ability to think, to feel, to process…and ultimately, to use those abilities to choose His way…to make room for Him. In every setting, at every twist and turn—regardless of if it’s popular or feels good. 

 

Lastly, for a fun bit of irony, to jump back into the lyrics, it gets into a curious space as these words ring out…

 

Do what You want to // Move how You want to

 

If you are like me at all, perhaps you thought, “Does this sound like we are giving permission to God to do this or that?” As in, we retain control or give permission to a wild and creative and holy God? The fact is, God can, has, and will do whatever He wants to do. We are puny in every sense possible. To me, this lyric ties back to Romans 12:2. It’s a confession or decision to be transformed. It’s a way for us to not conform to the world around us. It echoes the very words of Jesus: Not my will, but Your be done (see Matthew 26:39).

 

It really is all about surrender. To surrender our attitudes, our perspectives, our opinions, our admission that our way might not always be the best way…and that His way is better. And not just sometimes, but in all settings. His way will, has and always will be, better. Because it’s not about what we want, but what He wants.

 

And can you imagine what it would look like, as a body of believers, if we fixed our energies on this idea alone? What if our first response, perhaps our only response, was to surrender? To hold up the white flag and confess, “It’s You Jesus, and only You.”? 

 

Sure, its aspirational and a prayer for sure, but just because it seems far-fetched doesn’t mean it is. And it starts with a declaration. One that is dangerous, because though God will always do whatever He wants to, the moment we hold up the flag of surrender, He takes immediate notice. So, don’t be surprised when He starts doing the thing you are asking him to do in your life, or the life of our church. His way is better.

 

Ahem (clears throat), long story short, leading worship isn’t for the faint of heart…and neither is a life of surrender in Christ. 😊

 

The One/Two Punch

God, help us to see each other. Not with the broken and cloudy eyes of sin, but through the filter of grace, mercy and love. We are all broken in one way or another—all looking to be made whole—but let us lean into the brokenness instead of ignoring it or reasoning it away. Ignoring the condition doesn’t make it go away and the wishing or wanting of it to not be true doesn’t send it packing either.

What is our preoccupation with wanting to point fingers and cast judgment rather than to take the time to lean into the brokenness? To stare down the ugly? To admit and repent for the ugliness and brokenness rampant in us all?

It’s easy to make statements from behind a screen—both lofty or hateful. It’s easy to assume we know what’s really going on and how we got to where we are today. It’s easy to look at the situation and miss the person; to look at the crowd and miss the individual.

It’s laughable and ironic even that we’ve created more and more tools to connect us but still find lines that divide. And it’s not that we’ve found the lines, but we’ve illuminated them. We’ve chalk out the lines of separation and difference with a sense of pride all the while failing to realize that we are chalking out the outlines of our own bodies like shapes at a crime scene. And we do it with pride, with laughter and great satisfaction!

We’ve boxed ourselves in, erected walls to keep them out while failing to realize that it now traps us in. And if we’re not careful, if we don’t take the time—moments like these to search our own hearts—we’ll find ourselves gasping for air. We will find ourselves reaching out, but no one will be there to save us.  

But Christians, Christians don’t do that! We know the value of community, right? We know how to love our neighbors as ourselves? It’s what we’re known for. Right? Right.

When I was little, my parents taught me the principal of gradual growth and we did the very same thing with our kids as I suspect you did as well. You don’t jump right to solid foods, you start with milk and then move to more solid foods. A baby doesn’t know how to walk at first, so at first, they crawl, then gain their balance and toddle along.

It’s gradual. It’s where we get the word graduation from. When you graduate one thing you move to the next. And you can’t really move to the next until you pass the thing you are currently in. It’s getting one thing at a time—doing one thing first before moving to the second thing.

The Gospels, with such simplicity and clarity give us the one/two punch.

One. Love the Lord your God with all your passion and prayer and intelligence. So, I’ll ask the question: have we passed the one? I think so. We love God and its likely because we realize what terrible state we were in when God found us. That naturally moves us to passion and prayer—relying on God to keep us and help us along the way. And when it comes to the display of our passion and the power of prayer, attending any church on any given Sunday and you’re likely to see that on display. Sure, we may not sing all the same songs (of course for reasons of accuracy and Scriptural authority we make sure we don’t accidentally say “sloppy wet” when we really mean “unforeseen kiss”).

Loving God, check. Passion and prayer. Check. Intelligence?

Oh yes, we love to talk about our own brand of religious intelligence! We know what Scripture is saying and have become specialists when it comes to doctrine, the do’s and don’ts of religion and it’s not that hard to extend or explain those components to any who are willing (or unwilling for that matter) to listen. Our intelligence of Scripture helps us separate who is deserving of God’s love and those living in a lifestyle that is dissimilar from our own, and it positions us to help those people—not by way of actual help, but more pointing out of all the things they are doing that are keeping them from God (identifying the problem but not actually giving them any help).

And bonus, we get to do it all on social platforms that the whole world gets insight to! Amazing! So, let me get this straight…I can take God’s love for me, personally, use it as a threshold of what the real love of God looks like, I can be passionate for Him, using prayer to show the depth of how much I love God and have been “set apart”, and then give the one/two punch of my intelligence in Scripture and communicate the ways God is speaking to me on a personal level and make that instantly universal. (Takes a deep breath) This. Is. Amazing.  

And while we are talking about bonus items, not only do we get to do this to the world—you know, those who are on the outs with Jesus right now—but I also get to do this with other Christians! I can let them know why following a pastor or preacher is so dangerous! That listening to a specific worship leader or band can really lower their theological potency of Scripture. I can engage in hours and hours and comb through post after post on topics I’m passionate about and feel obligated to address and straighten people out. Again—bonus—I get to do this on the world’s stage!

But what about the two? The second part, the second principal Jesus himself said was part of the greatest? 

“You shall love your neighbor as yourself. There is no other commandment greater than these.”

Hmm. Well, I mean, yah, we do that too. It’s more a side thing. You know, we’re busy doing all that other stuff that’s so important and wrapped up into the one thing.

Ok, ok, ok, enough of the sarcasm. What am I saying? If it’s not clear, let me take a moment to be a bit more overt.

Could it be that we’ve let things like racism, sexism and all the other isms in because we’ve gotten distracted and off track in the first principal? Of course, we know the correct response is to say how terrible and ridiculous and wrong things like this are (and we should), but is it just a band aid to a larger and more serious sickness? One that’s requiring more than a quick fix? A quick post on Instagram or Facebook?

And let me be first to say this: Of all the offenders, I am the worst. That’s how Paul felt, it’s how I feel even though I do my best every single day to not respond with bias or judgment. So, if like the Bible says there are spiritual principles in play, that we as Christians have been called to be the light and salt to the world around us, what is at the head flows down. Are we being the light and the salt in the one? Have we graduated to the two?

Have we perpetuated racism, sexism and judgementalism (and yes, I’m aware that’s not an actual word) because we’ve simply been doing it under another name? We are quick to extend bias to other Christians for all the reasons and examples I’ve given above, to spew hatred towards another lover of Christ because their brand is slightly different. Is it really that far-fetched to think we might be doing it when it comes to societal issues (or the issues we think we don’t have)?

And so, let’s where I’ll leave it and return to the prayer I started above.

God, help us but most importantly, help me. Help me to understand, comprehend and apprehend the value, wisdom and instruction of the one/two punch commandments that I think deserve more attention than I give them. Help me to see that if I did, it might take care of all the rest. It might naturally work out all the biases and isms that exist within me. God, that I would be both a lover of You and my neighbor regardless of color, religion or creed. Help me to see things for what they are and to be quick to do more than just say it’s not right. Help me to live the change I so desperately want to see—to what I think is the change that you so desperately want to see for all your kids.

Your Kingdom come, Your will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven. Amen.

10 Question Challenge

Premise: Recently, I asked Londyn to write down any 10 Questions she could think of and I would write back to her with my answers. I did not give any specifications, I did not give her any prompts...just that simple bit of instruction. 10 questions I would answer. I was surprised and slightly overwhelmed by the depth and quality of her questions. Ok, no easy task, but here we go...

Question 9 | Why do we have names?

What a good question! And though this may be a little annoying, when I first read your question, it made me think of a couple of questions myself. And what are those questions? It’s not just, “Why do we have names,” in general, like for everyone on the planet, but why do you have the name you have and why is that important?

It’s one of those questions that you don’t think about that often—but your name is something you hear all the time. Think about it. We call your name when we need you to come inside. When we are looking for you. When we need your attention. Your name is one of those thing that isn’t really who you are (on the inside) but it’s the thing that identifies you.

Your name has a meaning, and if you can believe it, it wasn’t hard for me and your mom to agree on it. When mom found out she was pregnant, she had the thought, “I wonder what Matt would think of the name Londyn?” What’s crazy is that at the same time, I had the very same thought! So, when she asked, “What about the name Londyn,” I just smiled and agreed that it was meant to be!

It seems before you were even here, before you ever made your first little whimper and had trouble opening your right eye, your name was waiting for you. So that kind of explains how we decided on your first name. When we went to look it up (they have books that give you meanings to what names have become over many many years), Londyn meant, “Fortress (safe building) or Ruler (leader),” and from the first minute of your life, your personality (and this is the part of you that makes you, you) this was very clear.   

As for your middle name Mia, that too comes with some meaning. It means “mine” as well as the word “beloved,” which is just a fancy word for loved a whole lot! You add that to your first name and you get this short sentence: Londyn Mia = A Fortress (safe building) or Ruler (leader) that is beloved (loved a whole lot)! 

And even though that’s what the name means in some books, that’s just the starting point really. Think about it like a blank page that you’re going to draw on, a picture you’re going to create. You start off with an idea in your head, and as you start to put the marker to the page, you are taking the first steps to whatever it is that it’s going to become. Your name is just the beginning—it’s the start of who you are. It’s something you understand little by little. Something that takes on shape and color and looks more and more like a whole picture over time.

But what’s funny about it all, what’s so cool about a name, is this: just because someone knows your name, it doesn’t mean they know who you are. Who you are is the part inside of you that no one really sees. It’s your thoughts and dreams, your hopes and things that concern you. It’s the stuff that makes you smile. Even the stuff that makes you cry. The part of you that doesn’t like to watch movies that have sad parts, these are the colors and shapes that make you, you.

That means, you are the person who knows you the best. As you learn and figure out all those things inside of you, you can use that as a map of sorts. Friends around you may act one way or another. They may talk differently. They might use words that you either don’t use or know you shouldn’t use or act in a way different from you, but inside, you know who you are and you know what best for you to do.

Now, there’s one important thing about the sentences above. You are the best person in understanding who you are, but there is someone else who knows you even better than that. It’s not me, it’s not your mom. It’s not even your best friend in the whole world. Who is that person? Because you are smart, you probably already have some guesses, and likely, you even have said the answer out loud. The person who knows you best is God. Though I’m your dad and mom’s your mom, God is the one who created you and knows you best.

It’s kinda funny because just like you start a picture with a blank page and little by little you create something and put it on the page, God has created you and He also has a picture in mind. He can see everything about your life. Did you just have an itch on your head? Well guess what? God already knew you were going to have it. Did you slide on your skates and skin your knee? Want to know something neat? God, from the very beginning knew it was going to happen.

In those moments (and they will come) where you feel like you don’t know who you are, times where you feel like you don’t understand what’s happening around you, take comfort (basically just chill down) and say, “I’m no surprise to God, He’s got me, knows who I am, He knows my name and I’m good.”

And it’s not just with some of the silly stuff (skinning your knee or an itch on your head). Remember when you were outside playing and you felt left out? When you felt like you weren’t apart of the group? God saw that too. And though knowing God saw it or that it happened doesn’t make you feel any better in the moment, it is an awesome reminder that God see’s you and knows who you are and more importantly, what you will be one day. Maybe a singer, maybe an animal doctor…or maybe the leader of a great company, but whatever that is, God already knows.

If we didn’t have names, how would someone get your attention? If you didn’t have a name, how would someone call out to you? Over time, day by day, the reason you have a name is because it separates you out from the crowd. And as you start to add color to your drawing, as you add the different shapes to the page, you start to see for yourself who you are.

Here’s a little secret I’ll let you in on. Whenever I’m gone at work and I come home to see a table full of drawings and paintings, I can tell which ones are yours. Why? Because I see you in your pictures. There are ways you draw and color things that your brothers don’t. I see your personality (remember, all the stuff inside you that makes you you) and the things that you felt were important to get on the blank piece of paper. 

The same is true for your life. Your name comes with meaning from the beginning = A Fortress (safe building) or Ruler (leader) that is beloved (loved a whole lot). As you grow up, you start to discover all the cool things about you = what makes you laugh, cry, get excited, what’s important to you. Then, the best part, the most important part = nothing about you or your life is a surprise to God. And because of it, you can sit back, relax, and be confident in who you are.

Your name is Londyn Mia. Those are the words I use to get your attention, and as you continue to grow up, as you continue to figure out what your picture looks like, your life continues to grab my attention and affection. I already have an idea of who you are, but as your dad, I can’t wait to see what it really becomes.

Mutual Sorrow

The day my mother-in-law died, my world folded in on itself. The sky seemed darker, the ground underneath me felt paper thin. I thought, “if I lose my balance for just a moment, I’ll completely disappear.” My heart felt small, I felt it ripping at the seams. This was my wife’s mother. It was my wife’s best friend. She was a friend. She was kind, generous and loving. And though for many this was truth, it was more truthful because I knew her—I spent time with her. Frequent weekly meals, holidays, random Fridays and Saturdays, spent the night just to be around. And then this day happened. There couldn’t have been a moment any further from those moments than that one. The moment where everything changed. The moment light went dark, the moment laughter collapsed into tears so heavy that I felt them dragging me to the ground. 

And then something happened that confused me, infuriated me and disgusted me. Someone leaned down and said to me, “Take comfort in knowing that God still has a plan.” 

Take comfort? In what? A plan? Take comfort in a set of details that I have no insight into? Put my grief to the side to sort out the facts? The fact, the only one that really mattered in the moment was that yesterday she was here—in fact just days before laughing, smiling, celebrating her birthday—and now, today, she was gone. Her light extinguished, her spirit fully faded and torn from the seams—the things that held things together—from our lives. 

These are the things that matter—the things that are easy to overlook. We are quick to forget that a life lost here is more than just a single life that’s vanished. There is a gap in the tapestry, there is a break in the story, what is lost are the threads that hold things together. I am a thread and so are you. We are like a patchwork quilt—on our own rough around the edges, flawed—and its only when we are knitted together with the threads of love, compassion, understanding, civility, honor, respect and equality that we become something useful, something diverse and beautiful. 

And like a quilt, when we are cold, when we feel lost, when we feel the pains of sickness in our bodies, we cover ourselves underneath the weight of all of us. I sit quietly and find comfort, I feel the warmth of every single person. But it’s not as shallow or as distant as “us and them or those people,” but instead, “WE.” They are my family. 

Ephesians comes along and says something interesting in the second chapter: 

That’s plain enough, isn’t it? You’re no longer wandering exiles. This kingdom of faith is now your home country. You’re no longer strangers or outsiders. You belong here, with as much right to the name Christian as anyone. God is building a home. He’s using us all—irrespective of how we got here—in what he is building. He used the apostles and prophets for the foundation. Now he’s using you, fitting you in brick by brick, stone by stone, with Christ Jesus as the cornerstone that holds all the parts together. We see it taking shape day after day—a holy temple built by God, all of us built into it, a temple in which God is quite at home.

We are all heirs to belonging. We are all the inheritors of equality. Christ is the cornerstone and we are all being fashioned into not just brick and stone, but the very things that hold things together. So when a life is lost, the structure suffers—the whole structure, not just the part, and everything above and around it is in jeopardy. The response then is not, “Let’s wait on the facts or see what the whole story entails,” but instead, it is, “What are we all going to do? All of us. How can we fix what is broken, because it’s not just what is broken for they or them, but what is broken for us all?” 

That day. That very life-altering, history shifting day my mother-in-law died, what I didn’t want to hear is the how or why this happened, but I wanted tears. I wanted people to get around me and say, “This is completely unfair and I am so sorry for your loss.” I wanted them to help carry the burden of the weight that was on my shoulders. I wanted to not feel like everything was vanishing. I wanted people to pull me back from my stare down with death. I needed them to cover me with the weight of their compassionate sorrow—not their platitudes of the whys and hows just yet. Sure, there would be a time for that; a very important and crucial time for that, but I needed to know that I was not alone, that I was not being asked to walk this journey alone, and that someone understood my sorrow. That they acknowledged my loss. That they understood one single thing in that moment: that the seams had been torn and for now, here on this earth, we would be separated. I needed to see and feel their weighty, sorrowful and sincere tears fall on my face. 

Tears. Real tears. Sincere tears. Holy tears. Tears that have the possibility to heal. 

Romans 12 jumps in the mix with these two thoughts:

…so we, who are many, are [nevertheless just] one body in Christ, and individually [we are] parts one of another [mutually dependent on each other]. (AMP)

And then later in the chapter says, “Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn…”

When I cry with, when I weep over something or someone, I am identifying the mutual dependence I have on them. They don’t just matter to someone else, they matter to me. They mean something to me. When they weep, I too must weep because something in my life has been taken away as well. This display is the place in which we meet, where we understand best when Malcom X said, “I believe in the brotherhood of man, all men, but I don't believe in brotherhood with anybody who doesn't want brotherhood with me. I believe in treating people right, but I'm not going to waste my time trying to treat somebody right who doesn't know how to return the treatment.” Weeping with someone in honesty and without explanation or reason is the whole-hearted dive into the brotherhood of man.

And I won’t even attempt to explain the mystery of it, but when that happens, something stirs underneath the surface, the healing starts to rise up from the ground itself. I feel it in my toes and as it travels up my body, I feel the warmth of it like a blanket being pulled over my body, covering my pain and soothing my sorrow. 

I think this is why tears are so needed and why it angered me so much when that person said to me “God has a plan.” What I got from them is that they needed me to have a reason to be angry outside or above the sheer fact that she had died. Really? I needed a reason to mourn? I needed a reason to be devastated? No, what I needed were their tears, and by them not giving them, with their alluding to the possible facts of some sort of plan or meaning only separated us the more. They jumped over the healing aspect and went straight to the meaning. But you see, without the healing tears, without the presence of mutual dependence and mutual equality, it is nearly impossible to move on. Before we have the mutual gain of equality, we must come together on the leveled ground of mutual loss. Again, their loss is my loss. We are no longer strangers, no longer outsides. 

But as with most things, there is discomfort before there is comfort, there is sickness before health, confusion before clarity, injustice before justice, there is at times night before the break of day. The prayer is that we would fight for the healing process of mutual sorrow. It’s not that we won’t get to the point of fixing what is ultimately broken, but the part we must understand is that because of sin, we are all broken. We are all, each one of us, a frayed and worn out patch, and are only beautiful when we are stitched together. We have not been called to be on the outside looking in, not commenting and assuming this or that from far away, but deeply connected, arms locked together in sorrow, tears wetting the face of the ones we are so close that the tears become intertwined—one tear, one common sorrow.

The fact of the matter of the day we lost that beautiful woman, is that only the people most closely connected, or the ones actually going through it could fully comprehend the weightiness of the moment. When those came on the scene as a covering, it played a part in the healing. And the reverse is also true: when those came on the scene as a commentator on the condition of the situation, they became a part of the sickness; apart of the death itself. 

Mother Teresa said it quite simply, powerfully and beautifully: “If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.” What we belong to, is each other. And when we forget it or don’t remember it every single day, we forget what it means to belong. Are their obstacles in understanding it? Sure. Are there reasons why things are as jacked up as they are? Absolutely. But if my first move—my first response is to respond like family would—like I so desperately needed that day, I think it would set the stage for something truly amazing to happen. You’re crazy you might say. You don’t get it. You’ll never be able to fully understand the vastness of historical implications that have led us to this moment, and you would be 100% correct. 

I can’t. I want to, desperately, but what you say is true: I cannot fully understand. But what I can do is not burry my head in the ground, what I can do is hold you up when you are weak, when your world is crashing around you, I can weep and connect with you on the things I can understand: that loss is loss and sorrow is deep, dark and universal. I can fight for you like I’d fight for someone that belongs to me because at the end of the day, you do belong to me. I am yours and you are mine. Things can change. These are not platitudes, they aren’t wishful thinking, they are truth, and best yet, they are the truth not because I say they are but because God Himself says they are. 

Lastly, 2 Peter 3:9…

“Don’t overlook the obvious here, friends. With God, one day is as good as a thousand years, a thousand years as a day. God isn’t late with his promise as some measure lateness. He is restraining himself on account of you, holding back the End because he doesn’t want anyone lost. He’s giving everyone space and time to change.”

My prayer, as honestly and sincerely as I can possibly muster is this: that we will be changed by our mutual sorrow, that we will be transformed by trials, that we will remove the daily bias of ignorance and bigotry and that the dreams of some will become the reality for all. Amen, let it be so.  

GRAERCY

If I Had Another Daughter, I’d Name Her Grace & Mercy, Or Graercy

I remember being a kid (now that I’m thirty-one, I can say that) and trying to think up the most difficult situation I could imagine. I suspect some examples would have been:

“Eating at the lunch room table by myself,”

“Not having enough money to go on the Senior Trip,”

“Being left out of a particular group,”

“Not getting the lead in the school play.”

I look at that time in my life and think, “What in the world was I thinking? I thought those were tough?” It’s funny though, because I do think each age, each season, you really do feel it’s the hardest, the most intense and insurmountable. And I wonder when retrospection comes into play and you say, “The worst of it is behind me?”

It’s even slightly ironic that we feel the “right now it’s the worst” since we so frequently live in the past and future.  We’re concerned about something that hasn’t happened yet; robbing us of today because we check out of the every day and praying something we did in the past doesn’t one day catch up to bite us in the ass (respectfully of course).

Over and over again, I realize how under appreciated Grace and Mercy are, and how frequently we try to go it without them. These are the only two mentioned renewable fuels we are freely given every single day and yet we putter along on the fumes of yesterday.  I think we do it because for a couple of reasons.

Either we don’t think we need Grace and Mercy, which quickly points to pride

OR

We feel we don’t deserve it so we don’t ask for it every day, which points to a poor realization of who God is.

Both are equally destructive because they keep the individual in a constant state of motion without a constant presence of force. One day the machine just stops, it just turns off. There are some laws that even the most villainous cannot escape.

And so we look down at the dashboard and see the “Fuel Needed” light on and just pray we can make it far enough to reach the gas station closest to the destination instead of reaching the next closest station.

We miss the forest for the trees. We are so focused on the eventual that we miss the immediate and it is in the immediate that Grace and Mercy are born anew each day. And I’d push it a bit further to say that like the Manna given to the children of Israel, it perishes with the setting sun. The question is, “What if the Grace and Mercy you needed for today slips away?”