Usually, I like to think of myself as an encourager—in writing, at least. Face to face, I don’t come across like that. In person I seldom seem to get deeply involved with individuals; maybe because I’m not around other folks a lot and the truth is, I’m deep into my 80s now; I don’t know many people of my generation and there are none close by, so there’s that ugly phrase “generation gap”.
I was in my 40s before I began to learn to connect with people, and even then, my written words proved more effective. After all, it’s only in the most recent decade of many that I have seen myself clearly enough to admit at last that I was average at most things, inferior in others and excelled primarily in only one: the use of written words. With pride now limited to one area of my life, pride must be limited to only this one small area of my life.
My usual blog entries begin with bits of my history at a time when I learned a new spiritual truth, and as I find myself going back to reread them and reminding myself, relearning those life lessons (all too soon forgotten in the hubbub of daily life) and admiring the words God gave me to share. I guard against ego which would have me marveling at my insight at having answers to life’s problems. I know I don’t, but I imagine my reader may have as short a memory as I and might also appreciate a reminder.
As I write--and reread--these words, I can hear my Father’s voice, (not mine). When a computer glitch wipes out a page of His wisdom, knowing my unreliable memory can never retrieve those words, I breathe an instant prayer and begin typing and often the page is somehow quickly redone, often better than the original!
At 3 a.m., however, a news reel before my eyes documents details, decades of repeated failings and my unkind thoughts toward people whose actions I disapprove of, (regrettably long after I invited Jesus into my heart) and instantly I remember that loving “the world” or “mankind” can’t replace love for an individual, misguided or heedless though they may be. Who am I to think I have answers for others? My heart races as I wonder if I’m a sham, a hypocrite pretending to be His child? When I see Him, will He turn me away as a deceiver? And I feel the chill.
Yes, I have experienced many miracles and blessings, but were they the result of someone else’s prayers for me, rather than my own prayers being heard? Why don’t I pray more? Why do I dare judge people no worse than I? When dawn arrives, usually I can dismiss the late-night attack and move forward, doing what I know how to do and praying for my life to grow more pleasing to God. And put aside--until the next assault on my faith--any doubts I have, and remember a phrase I began to use some 40 years ago: Don’t doubt your faith; doubt your doubts.
The morning I listened to Dr. Jeremiah’s Overcomer broadcast and Peace flooded my spirit as I received God’s reassurance. I was reminded of the disciples and the people God used mightily in their weakness. I remembered my blog about hypocrites. I had written “I am a Saint-in-Training. If and when I behave like something else, then I am a hypocrite”.
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