The words aren't quite at my finger tips, but maybe if I stare out the window long enough words will start to come to me.
I am sometimes too much of a romantic for my own good, wanting to make my writing flowery and beautiful when sometimes all that is needed is raw truth. Sometimes flowery words are just a way to hide from that truth.
The raw truth is I am a messy person bought by the precious blood of Christ. The raw truth is I do not deserve to be loved and served by him, who laid down his life for me. The raw truth is despite all he does for me, I still grumble about serving others who are just like me. I hesitate to kneel down by the elderly lady in a wheel chair who asks me to help her try on a pair of shoes, but willingly Christ stooped much lower to save a wretched sinner like me.
These are my thoughts and meditations this morning. Yet I shirk the duty of writing it down. I would much rather be writing some elegant poem. Not writing out the painful raw truth of my sinful heart.
But the beautiful truth in all of the raw and messy truth is that God's grace is still greater than all of my messiness and sin.