God's Gifts and Petards
Well now!
Well now. My cup overflows (Psalm 23:5).
Have you ever received such a lofty gift that you can hardly believe it's for you?
It's mind-boggling! Mind-boggling. My mind is boggled.
Did you ever play Boggle? It was a game that had 16 dice with letters on them. You had this 4x4 tray-box in which you'd shake the dice and then try to find words.
That's my mind: all shaken up over and over again with new adventures each time. Holy moly.
How do I praise God? I've never been the best praiser, but now — in light of this lofty gift — my praise seems even paler. That's how our God rolls I guess: super-ultra-amazing gifts.
A gift isn't a trade.
I had a friend who would get annoyed with people that didn't thank or acknowledge her for holding doors open. We had a small debate in which I tried to distinguish between giving a gift and initiating an exchange.
I'm always leery when people throw around the word "deserve."
Romans 6:23 "The WAGES of sin is death, but the free GIFT of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord" (emphasis mine).
In other words, we deserve, we earn death. However, we are given, we are freely offered eternal life.
C. S. Lewis articulates it in The Great Divorce. Two men are debating in heaven, and one keeps insisting that he gets his rights:
"But I got to have my rights same as you, see?"
"Oh no. It's not so bad as that. I haven't got my rights, or I should not be here. You will not get yours either. You'll get something far better. Never fear."
You'll get something far better.
Back, back, backtracking, praise ain't an exchange. It's just a tiny gift in response to the uber-ultra-infinite grace God shows us. So my praise is pale, but that's how a finite, holiness-in-progress human works.
BOOM
In other news, I haven't written a poem in ages! It has been 168 days since my last poem! Yikes! My all time high was 320 days. I don't want to repeat that. But I'm rusty! Super rusty.
There were many seasons when I could feel poems brimming — often at night when my mind started to unravel. I used to sit a notebook by my bed, and furious, little poems would pop out from time to time.
Sadly, to get back into it, I believe I have to write some dreadful exercise poems. "Write out the crap" as I always say.
Hoisted on my own petard!
I'm off to begin the dreadful exercise.
Well now. My cup overflows (Psalm 23:5).
Have you ever received such a lofty gift that you can hardly believe it's for you?
It's mind-boggling! Mind-boggling. My mind is boggled.
Did you ever play Boggle? It was a game that had 16 dice with letters on them. You had this 4x4 tray-box in which you'd shake the dice and then try to find words.
That's my mind: all shaken up over and over again with new adventures each time. Holy moly.
How do I praise God? I've never been the best praiser, but now — in light of this lofty gift — my praise seems even paler. That's how our God rolls I guess: super-ultra-amazing gifts.
A gift isn't a trade.
I had a friend who would get annoyed with people that didn't thank or acknowledge her for holding doors open. We had a small debate in which I tried to distinguish between giving a gift and initiating an exchange.
I'm always leery when people throw around the word "deserve."
Romans 6:23 "The WAGES of sin is death, but the free GIFT of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord" (emphasis mine).
In other words, we deserve, we earn death. However, we are given, we are freely offered eternal life.
C. S. Lewis articulates it in The Great Divorce. Two men are debating in heaven, and one keeps insisting that he gets his rights:
"But I got to have my rights same as you, see?"
"Oh no. It's not so bad as that. I haven't got my rights, or I should not be here. You will not get yours either. You'll get something far better. Never fear."
You'll get something far better.
Back, back, backtracking, praise ain't an exchange. It's just a tiny gift in response to the uber-ultra-infinite grace God shows us. So my praise is pale, but that's how a finite, holiness-in-progress human works.
BOOM
In other news, I haven't written a poem in ages! It has been 168 days since my last poem! Yikes! My all time high was 320 days. I don't want to repeat that. But I'm rusty! Super rusty.
There were many seasons when I could feel poems brimming — often at night when my mind started to unravel. I used to sit a notebook by my bed, and furious, little poems would pop out from time to time.
Sadly, to get back into it, I believe I have to write some dreadful exercise poems. "Write out the crap" as I always say.
Hoisted on my own petard!
I'm off to begin the dreadful exercise.
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