Unconditional
I have a confession to make. I've been wrestling through this part of my heart for some time, and when I thought about sharing it, an ache entered my stomach: "This, Lord! Why now in the middle of so much processing?" Yet I felt the nudge to speak something unspoken: I don't love people. When I look at someone in the store, a passerby, and even people I know well, I don't care for them as I should.
Yesterday, in our travels, we drove past shacks and make-shift houses. People stood looking out of crooked doorways as our bus passed. Right there, in my path, there were people physically displaying the need present in every human heart without Jesus, and I didn't break. My heart barely went out to them. Has such a hardness settled over me that I can't see? Am I so blinded by "self" that I've forgotten where I came from? I was that shack. I was lost in poverty, broken, and even unpardonable. Yet, by grace, I was given a home, too lovely for words, to dwell in forever.
In this luxury home I've become comfortable. I've hung pictures, painted, plastered, and reconfigured until I've nearly forgotten the simple stewardship--not ownership--to which I was called. Away with worldly authenticity, unique pictures, perfectionism, and every form of self-promotion. I am guilty. So very very guilty, and I apologize. In my pride, I've allowed my flesh to build a self-motivated kingdom to impress people. I've adjusted my words, lifestyle, and image to please the masses. Now I'm here: distant from a godly love and distracted. In the havoc of reconstruction, all the simple beauty of His love has nearly been covered up. A large purpose of "this home," or new self, was to draw nearer to the unloveable as Jesus displayed on earth, not to rise on wings of self-righteousness. In my pursuit of self-worth, I've lost my compassion for the precious sheep of His pasture.
As I sat on my ninth bus ride of the past 4 days, I actually noticed the person in front of me. I closed my eyes to hold her image in my mind, and I told myself she was as dear to Jesus as I believed I was, but I couldn't make myself grasp the truth. I frantically prayed that God would give me His love for her. I cried out to Him, wondering what my life could possibly mean without love for people--strangers. Nothing. I turned away, dismayed, with tears blurring my vision. I was perfectly aware that I had cluttered the hallways, staircases, and walls until little of true importance remained. What difference is there between myself and the Pharisee of Jesus' life on earth?
Oh, it's easy to love those who love me, and I've been so blessed; but I haven't loved the unloveable, the outcast, the stranger, the one who is dirty with nothing to offer. Without love, I am merely a clanging bong. I've looked at people and run away because they've been too needy or different. My heart doesn't know the ache of true compassion. What if they didn't have Jesus? What if they're lost, wandering among wolves, and I have the means to show them redemption? I realize it's not about the feelings, or perfecting a mindset. I do know that it can be about carrying a burden. Every soul was indescribably valuable to Jesus as He walked among us, and He asked us to love like that. I want to carry that understanding and love wherever I go. The burden is light and the yoke is easy! If I don't love like Jesus, who am I?
Through grace, my eyes will be fully opened to this world. Day by day, and moment by moment, through honest reflection, I will soften to the call every Christ-follower must desire: to love unconditionally.
Rip away the false identity and self-promotion. Tear down the walls of this kingdom and fall afresh on me.
Yesterday, in our travels, we drove past shacks and make-shift houses. People stood looking out of crooked doorways as our bus passed. Right there, in my path, there were people physically displaying the need present in every human heart without Jesus, and I didn't break. My heart barely went out to them. Has such a hardness settled over me that I can't see? Am I so blinded by "self" that I've forgotten where I came from? I was that shack. I was lost in poverty, broken, and even unpardonable. Yet, by grace, I was given a home, too lovely for words, to dwell in forever.
In this luxury home I've become comfortable. I've hung pictures, painted, plastered, and reconfigured until I've nearly forgotten the simple stewardship--not ownership--to which I was called. Away with worldly authenticity, unique pictures, perfectionism, and every form of self-promotion. I am guilty. So very very guilty, and I apologize. In my pride, I've allowed my flesh to build a self-motivated kingdom to impress people. I've adjusted my words, lifestyle, and image to please the masses. Now I'm here: distant from a godly love and distracted. In the havoc of reconstruction, all the simple beauty of His love has nearly been covered up. A large purpose of "this home," or new self, was to draw nearer to the unloveable as Jesus displayed on earth, not to rise on wings of self-righteousness. In my pursuit of self-worth, I've lost my compassion for the precious sheep of His pasture.
As I sat on my ninth bus ride of the past 4 days, I actually noticed the person in front of me. I closed my eyes to hold her image in my mind, and I told myself she was as dear to Jesus as I believed I was, but I couldn't make myself grasp the truth. I frantically prayed that God would give me His love for her. I cried out to Him, wondering what my life could possibly mean without love for people--strangers. Nothing. I turned away, dismayed, with tears blurring my vision. I was perfectly aware that I had cluttered the hallways, staircases, and walls until little of true importance remained. What difference is there between myself and the Pharisee of Jesus' life on earth?
Oh, it's easy to love those who love me, and I've been so blessed; but I haven't loved the unloveable, the outcast, the stranger, the one who is dirty with nothing to offer. Without love, I am merely a clanging bong. I've looked at people and run away because they've been too needy or different. My heart doesn't know the ache of true compassion. What if they didn't have Jesus? What if they're lost, wandering among wolves, and I have the means to show them redemption? I realize it's not about the feelings, or perfecting a mindset. I do know that it can be about carrying a burden. Every soul was indescribably valuable to Jesus as He walked among us, and He asked us to love like that. I want to carry that understanding and love wherever I go. The burden is light and the yoke is easy! If I don't love like Jesus, who am I?
Through grace, my eyes will be fully opened to this world. Day by day, and moment by moment, through honest reflection, I will soften to the call every Christ-follower must desire: to love unconditionally.
Rip away the false identity and self-promotion. Tear down the walls of this kingdom and fall afresh on me.
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