Praise God for one more week of goodness I don’t deserve. Standing in front of the mirror reveals another day of understanding just how far my feet are planted from the cross, and Who it is that cuts the grass in between. Surrendering every piece of my life and every cognizance that any of this is mine, is the least I can do.
Walking into work a few Mondays ago was definitely not for the faint of heart. It started with a handful of late receivables, followed by the domino effect to cover it, transitioning to a product warranty and ending with a delivery gone frantically wrong. The short story is, I was not a Christian in the middle of this storm. Some may chalk it up to a bad day and others may call it a one off. But to me, a deeper issue lies beneath the facade, and it takes the right amount of heat and pressure to reveal the absence of salt and light.
Giving God the glory every time we receive a gift from heaven is something I strive for daily. The deliverance of the provision has perfect resonation and the reason for the celebration afterwards leaves me beyond elated. How the stars actually align is still a mystery, but the blessing is felt throughout every nerve ending in my body as it becomes crystal clear Who the sea belongs to and just how many fish are allowed to jump in the net.
But inconvenience my schedule and the delicate flow of our business and this euphoric reality vanishes as I am left in complete shame and embarrassment when I abuse the power of my tongue to destroy someone because they have inflicted unintentional discomfort in the direction of a customer. Focus is truant, the old Trey returns and the effort to span the distance between my sin and rendered vindication becomes overwhelming.
The story of the disciples in the storm comes to mind almost immediately as another opportunity to step out of the boat and follow Jesus enters the peripheral, and eyes to see the bigger lesson in the uproar are opened just behind the curtain of rain. The question of Who He is as my feet make contact with the water yield an understanding that His care will outlast the deficiencies of this world. His hand grabbing mine as I lose focus and slip beneath the waves, yield an understanding that my humiliation and awkwardness are lost at sea as fast as the wind and waves disappear in obedience. His embrace as I resurface eradicates the splintered hull and pays the debt again. Hope thunders a promise from the panoramic view of the horizon and “where else am I going to go” is the only response my feeble lips can plea.
