After posting what I did yesterday, the voices came to assail me: “Who are you to write a book–let alone ask anyone to read it?” And my soul clenched up in fear. Just who am I?
Nobody, really. Not in the world’s eyes anyway. I’m just a guy with a story, and a ridiculous dream. It’s a fool’s errand, really.
But that is exactly where we–you and me–are supposed to be. The Bible says so: “For God has chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise.” This to me means that if I’m a fool, I’m his fool. And he should know.
It means that I serve a God who believes in me so very much more than I believe in him.
For too long, though I called myself a Christian, I lived a practical atheism. As I have shared previously, I lived in that dangerous place where I was alright–but nothing could have been further from the truth.
Meanwhile, the elephants congregated in the room.
There is a name for this condition, and it is legion: denial. I was most decidedly not alright.
And chances are neither are you.
Embracing this is hard–harder than anything I’ve ever done, because it means confronting that demon called pride. But it is work I–you, we–must do.
It also means tearing down the veils of false modesty. God has given me both a dream, and the abliity, to see it through.
Yet why do I find it so hard to belive in me?
In the meantime, life must go on here in the valley of the shadow of doubt. For if there were no room for it–doubt–there would be no room for me. I must live in the tension between confronting my pride, and confronting the lies I tell me.
I cry out: “Lord, I believe; help Thou my unbelief.”
Do you cry out with me?
