I get to a point so often where Sunday mornings are about how I look and how I feel. For the first one, generally good, but I spend enough time on it. For the second, generally out-of-sorts, tired and emotionally withdrawn. I'm not intent upon pleasing God, ministering to people (people? get me out of here!) or even being pleasant to my family.
This has been the past month of Sundays. I can't seem to break the cycle. I always wonder if I'm missing out on God's blessing me or using me to bless someone at church. Maybe it's something amiss with my schedule. Maybe it's just my unbelievable sinful heart.
Seriously. Once I think God has shown me the depths of my sin, I give it another minute and I see more. It never, never ends, it's a plummeting descent into more caverns and crevices. I'm visualizing the Mines of Moria, here. Remember when Pippin knocked the bucket down the well and it kept falling, clanking and smacking on everything, for an age and a half?
Only the Spirit is big enough to take this enormous, dead, needy mine and make it something beautiful.
Listen to Mainstay - Believe