I don’t know what value this is. Maybe it’s only valuable to me; to let my heart speak the words.
What is Christ to me? He is a painful love. Yet, it’s not that he is painful but that I am from destruction.
I see his love. I feel his love. I strive, with everything I have, to do his love. Yet the culture of the place where I am from often interferes with peace.
The pain is not because of his love. Pain does not come from there. It comes from the store house of memories; wrapped around every thought like a leaching vine on a dying tree.
I remember I did this to someone. I remember I failed to recognize someone else’s pain. Missed moments. Murderous moments. Distracted by selfishness. Wasted times, Times spent trying to survive, encased in a body full of greed.
Sigh. So it is. But I would rather live this horror, with his love as my target, than to spend another moment living that useless life I have come to regret so deeply.
Let this be an apology where no words can repair. Let this stand as a testimony to true Christianity.
The Spirit of God calls, provokes, leads, and encourages toward what is holy. The unholy part of me must succumb. And I am gratefully thankful to my God that his promise is to destroy the destroyer. He is the rock upon which we are broken. Yet woe to those upon whom it falls, for they shall be utterly ground to powder.
Be glorified Holy Father, for the work of Your own hands in the souls You have chosen to love.