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10.17.03 - 11:50 pm Life happens in the stops along the way. It was true for Jesus, so why not me? This past week, I've gotten the opportunity to be there for people I've wanted to help for a long, long time. I didn't really *do* anything but listen, but I'm aware of the power in that action. I'm not sure how far-reaching the effects were in one situation, but in both, I felt incredibly blessed and unworthy of their time. That God would use me-- fallible, ephimeral, erring, and weak-- to do anything astounds me. These conversations were about things so real, so raw, I couldn't help but soak my pillow in tears as I reflected upon them later. Topic switch. The concept that our bodies are temples of God is biblical, but it's implications are often overlooked. So, we invite Jesus into our hearts but only give him a two foot space in which to move. We keep him standing in the foyer, in the hallway of locked doors-- then wonder why we aren't satisfied with life. And sometimes we will get gutsy enough to open the doors, peer out into the breezeway, but refuse to leave our dust-filled room. Sometimes we say, "Just one minute" and try to spruce up the place before he white glove tests the furniture. Or, the more calloused ones just say "Wait here; I've got unfinished business to attend to" and let him wince as we keep on sinning until we (hopefully) realize it won't ever satisfy. And I say, if I'm going to have someone make a home out of my heart, well, I want it to feel like a palace. I'll open doors I'd rather keep closed, and I won't try to clean before he walks in them. My attempts at anything good are so pathetic-- it's better just to follow the example of the master. I'm only a spiritual struggle. Anything else is just excess.
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