Sinkside security

Hands in sudsy water. . .

I wonder how many times I have done this, not the dishes, but the guilt. I wonder how many times my heart has been submerged in it until it becomes wrinkled up like a prune. I am remembering childish fascination over my wrinkly toes and fingers after a bath. I was thrilled as only a child could be with being wrinkled up like a raisin.

I wonder when I started obsessing over my every move. When was my first awareness of the terror of the Living God? I struggle to recall but I cannot. The memories aren't specific- long ago they fused into my personality like bolts that fused the hardback pews to the country church floor. Churches where I became aware of the power of God, His Holiness, His Love, His grace.

Somehow I narrowed in on the Holy part. His contrast. His snow white beard and blazing eyes...his voice of many waters, His wrath for the disobedient. I became a child of Israel running from the Mount, pleading with Moses to speak for me instead. Anything was better than face to face. I was foolish enough to think, arrogant enough to believe that I could follow the letter, the grafted commands. I would follow but only if I could stay safely hidden from the ever watchful gaze, the eyes that roamed to and fro. I knew the law meant death. But death seemed safer than the Great Awakening. Who wants to awaken to who they really are in the view of a Holy God?

The dishes are getting washed, but my mind is elsewhere. It roams to Him. My deliverer. The God who reaches for me, who longs to look me in the face. If I would just open up the door so heavy he would come in and eat dinner with me. How many times have I been cleaning frantically within and left him? Too many to count. I can see his eyes. Will they hold sadnesses? Does he think " O ye of little faith.". I know not. His thoughts are not my thoughts. God in the flesh is in the heavens now. But he dwells with me too. This I cannot deny. I hear a sweet whisper...

"if any man be in Christ he is a new creature..."

Years of sermons pile up in my head, stacks of sermon notes, slipping and sliding into each other, jumbled. I pick a page and scan it. . . "Salvation Is Forever Camp vs. Yes, You Can Backslide Camp". I smile. This one actually brings back fond memories of debates with Baptist schoolmates. That was before I realized I didn't know anything. We took the arguments to extremes, of course.

"If you cursed and then died that night do you still think you would go to heaven?"

"Why would someone who was really a Christian curse?"

I can imagine our less sheltered friends rolling their eyes. Our arguments were so simple - black and white like the print on this page. We've had more time now to test our security in Christ. I hope my friends are feeling more secure than I am in this moment.

"Old things are passed away. . ."

I ignore it at first but the whisper is getting louder. I want to let go, but it is hard. Somehow I still try to be in control. Pride is hard to wash away - a little like stubborn grease. I cannot believe that after all this time I'd rather stay in the dirty dish water with the letter of the law. At least dirt is something I understand. Dust
to dust. It is so familiar but I need to get out of the water. My heart is wrinkling.

"What if there is something between us, Lord? Is there anything I need to fix to be right with you?"

Hesitations. . . Even if there is something He can deal with it. I Know I am not single. But I must hide inHim., not from Him. Stupidly, I am still in the water. But the water is dirty. It needs changed. Voice calling me out - the voice of rushing water carries within it the living water.

"Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will never pass away. . ."

I dig around for the sink plug.

"If any man be in Christ he is a NEW creature. . ."

The water starts to to funnel down the drain. I grab the spray nozzle and rinse all the evidence of the filth away.

"Behold, ALL things become new."

"Let go my child. My grace is sufficient."

I take hold of Him.

Today, I refuse to let theology make me insecure. As my Baptist friends would tell me, my security has nothing to do with me. I just open the door. Even that was made possible by Him.




"But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all surpassing power is from God and not from us.". 2 Corinthians 4:7, NIV