So I watched the game on Sunday- 49ers vs. Saints. Awesome.
I was a 9er fan years ago, and now that my sweetheart likes them, my love has been rekindled. I watched the majority of the game with him, then had to get home for a kid sleepover commitment. To my chagrin, I watched the finish alone. I was uber excited and my little heart was pounding. I stood amazed.
How many 100's of thousands of text messages went out after that win? How many fans called to rib their Saints-loving cohorts? How much money was spent and how much camaraderie took place as a result of that ball game?
A few minutes later, still reeling from what I had just seen, it hit me. I never cheer on my Jesus. Never. I never text my non-believing friends to antagonize them when I hear about a miracle. I don't chest bump or fist pump my fellow believers. I just say boring, meaningless things like "I'm praying for you" or "Praise God". And I TRULY am praying for them. I never say that unless I have actually prayed. And I really AM praising God. I praise Him all the time. But does it change anyone's life? Is one single person better off because Jennie prayed for them? And if they are, does that just feed my ill gotten self worth, resulting in a deficit to my own character? I just don't know. I can't imagine NOT praying for the ones I love is the right solution. We are called to pray with pure hearts. How do I get one of those?
How is it possible that so much fellowship takes place over a football game and so little takes place in our own families? Why does the existence of Facebook allow us to actually believe that there are 482 people who care about us? Why do we need 482 friends?
I have read God's word. I know it inside and out. I know that He told me in John 15:18 that the world would hate me. And if it doesn't, then I belong to the world.
My heart is breaking.
When I read that verse, I feel as though the words leave God's lips and enter my heart. It weighs so heavily on me that more often then not, I belong to the world.
He knows it. I know it.
Every evening, I crawl into bed and turn on the tv, which is how I put myself to sleep. It never fails that the thought provoking documentary I fell asleep to has transitioned into the 3am infomercial for something made in a country I have an issue with, using 2 cents of plastic, selling for $19.99, buy one get 2 free (just pay seperate shipping and handling). AND I WANT IT. The tone inflection of the announcer piques my interest. The smile the Mom gives when the spices are labeled, or the cereal stays fresh for 3 months or every single stain comes out of the kids clothes- is addicting.
Like a sermon.
When the pastor finishes on Sunday, you want God. You want more and more God. You want to walk to Him, run to Him. You want to lay out all your dirty and be forgiven. You can open your wallet. Freely. Because it feels good to be good around good people. But everyone in church- almost everyone- is like me. With words that feel meaningless and secrets she hopes her Christian friends don't know. I danced in the car to "I'm sexy and I know it" on my way to service. I tithed less than I should have and I bought a new handbag. I walked by someone who was clearly in need because I was too selfish to invest the time in them to help when I easily could have. I hoarded all of the gifts God gave me instead of letting them bless others.
Of. This. World. Even though my bumper sticker says I'm not.
Sometimes I barely recognize myself. But He sees me. All of me. Not just what I confess in prayer, or what I tell my mother. I know he sees my heart and knows I long for Him and He must see all of the things that get in the way. And he must see me collecting these things that are in- the- way. And surely, He sees me choose to put them there. In the way.
And so my prayer is this.... Father, may the love I have for you in my heart overflow to my actions and pour out my lips. May my journey make others journeys richer. May one little life read these words and know that it's ok that they are broken because I am super broken and you love us anyway. May my eyes see what your eyes see. At they end of my days, may you look upon me and judge me faithful to You. Only. Please take my bold spirit and focus it on your works, instead of mine. And PLEASE, help me to stop refering to you as My Jesus and begin to call you Our Jesus.
Because fellowship matters.
I stand amazed.
Matthew 25:23.
