When you need to be rescued
I rush around the mess of life in my warm kitchen, squinting down at those asking faces who want just a little more of me. The bright October sun reaches in through the window and lays its beams across the paper jammed counter.
I'm feeling it today, that slowly building pressure of things piling up on top of each other. I know how it ends. I've done this once before and then I've done it all over again. One begins to see the pattern of a building stacked upon a solitary foundation and knows how it was never meant to stand.
I am not enough.
They rush here, there, and all around spreading crumbs and milk over clean floors and counters. A heavy sigh escapes, and I swallow it all down. It swims right there in the pit of my stomach, those questions of how I will ever get caught up on life.
I stand at the sink, drowning.
The book is laying on my disheveled desk, and I remember words that reached out to me like those crazy sun rays moving through my window and lighting all the inside up. Paul Miller spoke to this heart in A Praying Life, "Underneath her obedient life is a sense of helplessness. It has become a part of her very nature . . . almost like breathing. Why? Because she is weak. She can feel her restless heart, her tendency to compare herself with others. She is shocked at how jealousy can well up in her. She notices how easily the world gets its hooks into her. In short, she distrusts herself. When she looks at other people she sees the same struggles. The world, the flesh, and the Devil are too much for her. The result? Her heart cries out to God in prayer. She needs Jesus."
In the midst of children, crumbs, and chaos comes a desperate breath of prayer. "Help me!"
And aren't we all overwhelmed by life? Searching for someone or something that will save us from the ache of living in a messy world?
Jesus wants to be that one. He wants to be your Savior. He says just this to us, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." (Matthew 11:28)
It's simple. We ask, he saves.
I look at the room around me and feel peace floating down like the tiny specks of dust floating through the light.
I'm feeling it today, that slowly building pressure of things piling up on top of each other. I know how it ends. I've done this once before and then I've done it all over again. One begins to see the pattern of a building stacked upon a solitary foundation and knows how it was never meant to stand.
I am not enough.
They rush here, there, and all around spreading crumbs and milk over clean floors and counters. A heavy sigh escapes, and I swallow it all down. It swims right there in the pit of my stomach, those questions of how I will ever get caught up on life.
I stand at the sink, drowning.
The book is laying on my disheveled desk, and I remember words that reached out to me like those crazy sun rays moving through my window and lighting all the inside up. Paul Miller spoke to this heart in A Praying Life, "Underneath her obedient life is a sense of helplessness. It has become a part of her very nature . . . almost like breathing. Why? Because she is weak. She can feel her restless heart, her tendency to compare herself with others. She is shocked at how jealousy can well up in her. She notices how easily the world gets its hooks into her. In short, she distrusts herself. When she looks at other people she sees the same struggles. The world, the flesh, and the Devil are too much for her. The result? Her heart cries out to God in prayer. She needs Jesus."
In the midst of children, crumbs, and chaos comes a desperate breath of prayer. "Help me!"
And aren't we all overwhelmed by life? Searching for someone or something that will save us from the ache of living in a messy world?
Jesus wants to be that one. He wants to be your Savior. He says just this to us, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." (Matthew 11:28)
It's simple. We ask, he saves.
I look at the room around me and feel peace floating down like the tiny specks of dust floating through the light.
