Foxhole Pagan

I say I believe in predestination and election, and I do. But when things get a little shaky, I start rationalizing. Maybe I messed up somewhere along the line, and that's why [fill in the blank]. Maybe I should be there instead of here, do this instead of that. Maybe my actions are of such cosmic importance that they can derail God's grander plans.

It looks ridiculous, doesn't it, printed out like that?

Tomorrow I will be going on my first outing with my church's newly incarnated Adopt-A-Block ministry. We'll be going door-to-door in the same 12 apartments every other week for the next 6 months, getting to know people, seeing how we can help them, living the Gospel before speaking it.

That's the plan, anyway. The thing is, the Gospel in my life is pretty messy. It's one thing to swoop in with carefully crafted words, making Jesus sound like the beautiful solution to all problems. But what about the fact that after 28 years of walking, I still trip over a short fuse and a low tolerance for the faults of others? What about the fear that speaking truth will lead to the unpleasantness of being disliked? What about the terror that somehow I will singlehandedly turn people away from this God I profess? If I really believed this stuff, really loved this Person, wouldn't my life and witness be...what? Neat? Simple? Easy?

I was thinking this morning of my motives for sharing God with others, and of how incredibly mixed they are, and these words from Paul came to mind: "What then? Only that in every way, whether in pretense or in truth, Christ is proclaimed; and in this I rejoice." (Philippians 1:18)

And I was thinking just now of my incredible smallness, and the words of a more recent saint, Sara Groves, came to mind: "What do I know?" Her song counters the question "what" with "Who"--"from what I know of Him...."

I am scared of my own weakness. I will just have to rest in His strength. Which is not a triumphant declaration of faith so much as my only possible option.

After all, when it comes down to it, being as important as I tend to think I am is pretty horrifying.