In the name of Jesus, doubt, fear, lust, and worry bow down before the King. All of my sin and even myself are laid low at the feet of Jesus. Unlike them, He lifts my head and brings me to my feet. His eyes say everything I need to know. My Lord hands me a sword, and motioning to the bodies of my sinful nature, says to me, “Finish them.” Unsure why He is asking me to do it, my fingers grip the sword I hold by my side. Jesus has crushed all sin and the death it brings, yet here I see sin before me. Though defeated, the world still suffers its plague. He made for us a way to freedom, yet Jesus still gives us a choice between the grave and the sky. He didn’t just die for us, He became Life. And He wants to bring you with.
He reigns victorious, with the world underfoot. The earth tells stories of His majesty and power. Creation speaks His name. Looking at us He says, “All of this is for you.” So tell me how even with God before us, with mountains and hills to sing on, with galaxies and dancing light in the skies, with twisting rivers carving through the land and rushing into oceans sustaining life of creatures you couldn’t even dream of, how can we still choose to play on a rusty playground littered with our dirty needles, as if God isn’t enough? He built us like a house, but we carelessly left the door unguarded at night. And in walked death, disguised as the desires of our heart. We befriended a forked tongue liar and have grown fond of his voice. Entranced by his words, just like before, we are lead astray. Yet again, we have fallen.
So here we are before Jesus. He’s dusted us off and made us clean as we knelt at His throne. He raises us up and clears our minds and we see all the evil ones who we have let in to our lives. Sword in hand we know what we have to do. It must be done quickly, but not without thought. So think.
Our sword becomes a surgeon’s knife whose dual purpose is to cut deep and slice out the things keeping us from freedom. And it hurts. Our sinful nature knows this. He has a voice and it sounds a lot like mine. But there’s something different in his tone. It’s harsh and critical. It’s a deserted sailor anchored to the ground on a make-believe island. He screams and says he is alone. Oh, if he’d just look over his shoulder, the truth would stare him full in the face. But he doesn’t want to. Scars this deep become crevasses and he carelessly treads along the edge…
Slowly he’s falling. I let him grab a hold of me and we fall together. But there, that sense of falling like in a dream, wakes me up again. Snap. My sleepy eyes know light once more. Instantly I’m sober. And I’m brought to a very real place. It’s empty of everything, but my brokenness. The voice that isn’t mine, demands I keep my eyes closed and fists clenched. So I obey and hold tight, trapped in a dark zone of my own design. I hate it here, but I deserve this heartache and my portion of sorrow. I set my jaw. It’s only fair that I suffer. I did this to myself, now leave me alone.
Stumbling along, I shake my head. Disappointment slithers across my shoulders and heavily comes to rest atop my neck, weighing me down. Like a loathsome train pulling into the station. I can always be found standing on the platform when it arrives, ticket in hand. Once again, I board and take my seat.
I know where this train will take me. Back to places I’ve been to many times before. Paths beaten down by the downtrodden. I am not one of them. I can’t be. I was made for the wild and I can hear it calling. At the next stop, I’m gone. The doors close and I’m alone again. This time, it’s because I want to be.
Now that I’ve stopped moving, reality caught up with me. But is this even real? All that I know is gone with the train, headed to a dreary, uninspired destination. Everything has begun to fade – snorted through a black tunnel, following the tracks laid out by the unimaginative. All is still in this forsaken unknown. I sit down in the dirt and hug my knees as life gets heavy again. What have I accomplished? Feeling like a failure, I’m back in the dust I was made from.
Then, in the quiet, the wind gently stirs to life the world around me and I draw fresh air like a pail of water from a deep well. I open my eyes; I open my hands just in time. Grace falls through the dark like a quiet snowfall in a sleeping forest, every snowflake bringing another wave of restoration. An enchanting, soft light grows from seemingly nowhere. Daybreak tenderly approaches. I feel so blackened, placed here in this perfect scene of white. It’s as though these lands have never seen anything other than perfection. “And they still have seen only that.” How can that be true? I open my mouth in protest, to tell Him of the terrible things I’ve done. “I don’t care what you’ve done. I know who you are.”
《You can’t ask grace “Why?” You can only receive it or reject it. You can clench your fists or you can open your hands. It’s all we can do to understand.》
Every day, You hand me a sword and You teach me to turn it on myself and jab it through my flesh, killing the parts that were never meant to be. Still, most days I can’t stomach the thought of it and I push the sword away. On the days that I don’t however, I fall asleep looking a little more like You.
firebeardblog 
Really, really good stuff. I’m still processing everything in this. Convicting but freeing. 🙌🏼
LikeLike
Excellent word,truth with hope and freedom! Love you Josh!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Josh, this is probably my favorite blog of yours. Once again your words have taken me on a short-story journey that seems so real in my imagination. What a talent you have, son!
LikeLiked by 1 person