Super Bowl Sunday had proved to be an epic day for me. After church, my wonderful husband, Britton, gave me what every mother with a three-week-old newborn and three-year-old son dreams of…a nap. Not only did he take care of both kids, but also he took care of them without anyone disturbing me for two-and-a-half hours of dreamless bliss. I’m pretty sure I went through the deepest REM cycle of my life. Then, later that evening, I enjoyed getting pampered by all the Lakeside ladies who eagerly snuggled my little baby, Judah, the entire length of the Super Bowl.  I cared little about those two teams tackling each other on the field, but rather I did care about the delicious spread of snacks cluttering the table, the interaction with people who are actual adults, and the fact that I wasn’t carrying anything but myself for a while. These simple things were, in fact, the highlight of my whole week.

Then, after the beautiful madness that is America’s Super Bowl Sunday reached its conclusion, and I was sitting in bed finally looking at my phone, something dawned on me. As I was scrolling through Facebook, I saw my aunt had posted on my mom’s wall “Happy birthday Sis!” It was 11:30 p.m. Utah time, and a whole hour later Texas time meaning that I had completely missed my mother’s birthday. What a blunder. Immediately, I did what any person would and called my mom to wake her up in the middle of her REM cycle to say a very pathetic happy birthday. After I hung up, I cried a good bit and sent her a long text with a sincere apology asking her to forgive me.

I felt awful. Anyone would, right? But, my mother had just spent nearly two weeks by my side at the hospital after my C-section and later at my house taking care of my entire family’s needs. She had selflessly done laundry, cooked dinners, and changed diapers without me every having to ask her to do anything for me because she had already done it. She deserved so much better, but that wasn’t exactly the whole story either. Regretfully, I had done this very same thing before and had promised myself that I would never make that mistake again. I had forgotten her birthday when I was a senior in high school. When she hinted about it the day after, I was too prideful to admit my mistake. I tried to play it off that I just had to get her present to her. She had been pretty upset, but didn’t show it. I don’t know if I ever truly told her sorry, but inwardly, I cringed at my own selfishness.

When I reflected about this whole experience, I couldn’t help but notice how it echoes our relationship with God. So many times in our lives we do something that we truly feel horribly about. We sin. Then, we realize our mistake and pray to God about it. We promise God and ourselves that we will never do that again, but the truth is, we can only hope that we won’t walk blindly into sin again. So, we trudge along, and then sure enough, somewhere down the road we mess up all over again. We seem to be forever conquered by our own flesh, by our own humanity. Yet, scripture speaks against this is Romans 8 when Paul talks about our freedom from, “the law of sin and death.” (I encourage you to sift through this passage to grasp and understand for yourselves). Truly, Christ has set us free. We still continually battle with our flesh in this life, but Christ’s blood through the graciousness of our amazing God covers our sin.

With that said, it seems that God isn’t as concerned about us sinning as He is concerned about how react to our sin. The first time I forgot about my mother’s birthday, I hardly admitted my mistake. Instead, I let guilt seep into the crevices of my heart and thought I had done something completely unforgivable. Then, years later, after I did the exact same thing all over again, I reacted oppositely. I felt the weight of my mistake when I thought about how much love my mother had showed me so recently. I openly admitted my stupidity asking for forgiveness, and my mother forgave me with open arms.

As we walk forward in our faith, we begin to know the heart of God, and this understanding changes our hearts. We will inevitably sin, but, if Christ is in us, we learn to respond to our sin with changed hearts full of thankfulness for God’s grace. Our desire is to please our Father, but He knows we are not perfect, and that is why we rest in freedom of His unending love and grace.

For approximately 38 weeks/ 266 days/ 6,384 hours I have been waiting for the day when my second son, Lord willing, will enter the world and rest in my arms. When I think of all the praying and tears involved in asking God to give us a second son for the year and a half before this pregnancy ever started, I realize that I have been in this waiting game for a very long time. While I have been ever hoping that the day would draw near very quickly, it is closer than it has ever been right now, and I am more “expectant” than I ever was before. Thus the day draws near consuming my thoughts and my mind. I have dreamt about it often and spent hours preparing for this little one’s arrival. So, the house is clean, (for now) the baby bed ready, my hospital bag is packed, but I am still eagerly waiting while this babe kicks my ribs incessantly, waiting while he makes me waddle like a penguin, and again, still waiting while he constantly gets the hiccups making my abdomen jump in a hypnotic rhythm.

To wait…why must we wait? What is the significance of waiting? I couldn’t figure out why God kept bringing that word to my mind for the last few weeks except for that I was impatiently waiting to have this child. As I continued mulling over the concept of waiting, I became even more annoyed with the passivity of it. To wait involves very little doing of anything. Here I am, the object (a very large round uncomfortable object) at a standstill, anticipating the arrival of something completely out of my control. Being as stubborn as I can sometimes be, it took me an entire week until I finally sorted through the Bible and to try and  figure out what God might be trying to teach me. Sure enough, this very fitting passage struck a chord with my heart.

“We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.

Romans 8:22-25

There are so many things that we are waiting for. We wait for good things like the perfect soul mate or the best job opportunity. We wait for other things, though less willingly, like for our lives to fall apart, or for the inevitable face of death to send us spiraling into an oblivion of sorrow. Yet, in the scriptures, I was surprised to see how connected the word “wait” is to “hope.” The two are almost synonymous with one another because scripture is clear on what we are supposed to be waiting for, the Lord. He should be our focus and hope in this life, the thing we eagerly anticipate.

What I’ve learned about my life, particularly my family life with my husband and first son, is that so much of our relationships are shadows of our relationship with the Creator. Through my husband, I have learned a deeper meaning of the love that Christ has for me. Through my first son, I have experienced our Father’s heart for His children. Now, through this time of waiting on my second son, I see how eagerly we should be waiting on the Lord for His glory to be displayed in our lives. We inwardly groan amidst the pains in this life, but our hope is still in the Lord. We await the day when we will see God face to face and be welcomed by Him as sons and daughters through the blood of Christ. Until then, we can meet with Him in this sense of eager expectation during the quiet of the night or the dawn of the morning. We can simply be in His presence ready and waiting for Him to inspire, to guide us through the days ahead because soon His renewing spirit will birth something spectacular inside of us whether it be insight into His character or new direction for our lives as long as we are attentive, listening, and consistently waiting on the Lord.

Down the uneven dirt road the screech of a donkey and the moan of a young woman echoed through the night to the sleeping town of Bethlehem. Joseph steadied the animal as Mary readjusted herself on its back, perspiration beaded on her brow even in the cool night air; He was about to arrive. Of course, Bethlehem did not greet Him with much hospitality, but who would think that the Savior of the world would be birthed from such an ordinary young girl in a miniscule little town.

Yet the King did arrive in a stable among the sheep and goats. The angels rejoiced, the star shone bright, and the Shepherds paid tribute to their future Savior. It was a beautiful scene, humble as it was. It is that scene that we celebrate every December 25^th, the night hope was born into a world of darkness.

What we don’t often remember is what happens afterwards. Mary and Joseph had stayed in Bethlehem for a time after Christ was born. All the while, Magi from the east sought out the newly birthed “King of the Jews” for they had seen Jesus’s star in the east. The Magi arrived in Jerusalem to be greeted by Herod the Great. They shared their reason for the long journey with Herod who encouraged them to go find the child and then tell him where he was so Herod could also “worship” him.  Herod’s plans for the Christ child were anything but harmless. The paranoid king intended to kill Jesus in fear that the child would be a threat to the throne. When the Magi did not return, Herod’s anger mixed with an unnatural amount of fear and paranoia lead him to go to extreme measures. The horrific event is briefly accounted in Matthew Chapter 2: 16-18.

“When Herod realized that he had been outwitted by the Magi, he was furious, and he gave orders to kill all the boys in Bethlehem and its vicinity who were two years old and under, in accordance with the time he had learned from the Magi. 17 Then what was said through the prophet Jeremiah was fulfilled:

18 “A voice is heard in Ramah,

weeping and great mourning,

Rachel weeping for her children

and refusing to be comforted,

because they are no more.”

This is virtually the only place where this event is recorded in history. The apostle, Matthew, deemed it worthy to be noted in the gospel he wrote, but other historians of those times neglected it. The woes of Bethlehem on that horrific night failed to make the headlines of the time. There is no doubt that, as the innocent blood soaked the ground, deep throated cries of anguish filled the air for the precious babes slain in the very dawn of their lives. Yet, to Herod who had the conscience to kill his own sons and his most beloved wife, this bloodshed was simply necessary. To others making note of events, this one was minor for Herod had viciously murdered many more people in cold blood than a handful a baby boys.

The world lived in dark times, but hope had escaped by the mighty hand of God. Joseph had been warned in a dream to take Mary and Jesus to Egypt. The clutches of the enemy however desperate could not snatch the Hope of the world away. God saw to it that Christ would save the world, and that He did.

It is this Hope that we live for, that we celebrate this Christmas. Sometimes our troubles threaten to drown us in our economically struggling world where any evil seems to be lurking just around the corner. While the woes of our life may continually surround us, remember that Hope has already escaped evil’s grasp. We can cling to that Hope no matter what circumstances come. It is He who gives us peace and the strength to keep going, so spread that Hope this Christmas with your family and friends because Jesus is the light of all men. Merry Christmas!

 

 

 

 

The wooden planks of the empty boats creaked with each sloshing wave. The sun blazed high above casting splinters of light upon the water making Simon and Andrew squint as they looked out on the sea that had been anything but generous the night before. After a whole night of work, their nets were left empty and minds troubled. Their hands, calloused from heaving the swollen nets from the ocean, displayed their lot in life. They were fishermen, nothing more. Their minds hadn’t been sharp enough to continue studying the Torah as young boys, so now they had their trade. But it was enough, right? There was food enough to eat and still some to trade for their needs. Still, the man walking along the shore-side teaching the crowd of people was intently staring directly at them.

His face was nothing remarkable to look at, but when he spoke, the authority in his voice could not be questioned. “Come, follow me,” he rang out, “and I will make you fishers of men.”

At that moment, there was a stirring, a churning in the souls of Simon Peter and his brother, Andrew. Perhaps it had begun long ago, before they ever laid eyes on this man. Nevertheless, the call was unrelenting in nature; it would not be quieted by human logic that could, at times, weigh as heavily as the sea-soaked nets in their hands.

With an understanding nod towards one another, the two brothers dropped the nets that had been their life and waded out in the shallows of the Sea of Galilee to follow Him. They had been called, but what had He called them to?

 

Why did He call fishermen let alone the tax collectors and sinners to make up His inner circle, the twelve disciples? Simon Peter and Andrew truly had nothing to offer our Messiah, but He called them anyway. Christ boldly rebuked Peter calling him Satan, and yet Peter was the tool, the rock of the early church.

The church, the body of Christ, started out as people who shamefully resembled the rest of the human race with their many mistakes, countless faults, and sin that shown as black as anyone else’s. Yet, Christ, through the work of the Holy Spirit, entered their lives and began transforming the growing body of believers. Yet, many of the books of the Bible like Corinthians were written to congregations to admonish them for often times horrific behavior. The early church was infantile in nature, but God was refining His body of believers, rebuking the guilty, teaching the ignorant, and ultimately bonding them together with His love.

I find it amusing, yet saddening when people of our day and time say that Christians are a bunch of hypocrites, so they will NEVER go to church. The truth is that we are hypocritical at times because we are still learning too. I promise you that if you stick around any body of believers for long enough, you are going to find something wrong with it. The point is that, as a church, we are learning how to follow Jesus. Through disagreements and heartache we discover unconditional love. Christ’s own disciples did not have it all together, so what makes us think we do? Lakeside is an imperfect body of believers with calloused hands as well. Consider this a warning: If you stick around any Christian church long enough, eventually, someone or something will go wrong, but if you stick around even longer, you will then get to witness how Christ’s forgiveness heals and changes people’s hearts. That is something worth understanding.

I say all of this in hopes that during those times of disagreement we will stick together and embrace forgiveness. Dwell on that the rest of this week. Is there something that has been left unsaid because of bitterness or resentment? Is there anything that might get in the way of God moving forward with our church? As always, remember the cross and remember the cost of your own sin. Simon Peter and Andrew were called by Christ to be His disciples, yes, but that also entailed them being called to forgive as He forgave them.

 

 

 

 

 

With bellies still round from turkey, stuffing, and everything else that makes Thanksgiving so delicious, a small group of women from Lakeside (myself included) headed to brave the crowds of Black Friday Eve. I had never done the whole Black Friday thing before because I simply couldn’t find a good enough reason to drive side by side with the insane drivers of Lubbock, TX. But, this particular evening, I wasn’t the one driving. I was a thousand miles away from Lubbock drivers, and I thought, “Why not? It could be fun!”

Wal-Mart was an absolute madhouse, but luckily I had Patricia Erdman to be my personal guard. Women shrieked and then began clawing at the merchandise as the workers lifted the yellow plastic off of a set of discounted vacuums. The lines to check out were disorganized clumps to people clinging to their shopping carts, (if they had one) or clumsily trying to juggle loads of toys in their arms. We waited for a good 45 minutes to an hour to get through the line, but ultimately, we did leave Wal-Mart unscathed. That was not so true for dozens of people at Wal-marts across the nation.

Amidst the cheerful ring of Christmas melodies, shoppers punched, clawed, and even resorted to pepper spray to insure that they were able to grab those items that were at least 20% off. A grandfather in Phoenix, Arizona was handcuffed in a pool of his own blood after officers had to throw him to the ground for shoplifting. Now, we find out that he was simply trying to protect his eight-year-old grandson from a bargain thirsty mob that was about to trample him while getting their discounted video games. What a beautiful start to the Christmas season! There is nothing like a little bloody violence to get us in the Christmas spirit.

After seeing and experiencing all of this, one question plagues my mind. What are we celebrating? Obviously most of the country is celebrating their own ability to get their family superficial items of luxury before December 25^th. And, in doing that we are celebrating our own wealth. Though we are “giving,” we are simply indulging in the feeling that it giving provides, or trying to appease whining children by distracting them with more toys. Does this sound brutal? Well Black Friday was pretty brutal.

Let us remember something. Away in a manger, over two thousand years ago, our Lord, the King of the Universe, entered this world in the form of a small babe. Christ was sent to us, to die for us. He was sacrificed for our own idolatry, the same idolatry we celebrate here in America during the days leading up to December 25^th. We scrapple for these trivial gifts, but the real gift has already been given. What a perplexing paradox about our culture.

I challenge you in the coming days, instead of teaching your children about a fictional man in a bright red suit, to bring your children to the side of the swaddling babe, our King, in the real Christmas story. Instead of getting tightly wrapped up in the stress of tinsel and bows, unwind and take some time to reflect on the gift God has given us. We have souls that have been redeemed, set free from the bondage of sin because of God’s love for us. What a reason to celebrate! With that, I say to you, “Merry Christmas!”

Three years and twenty-six days ago, my life changed forever.

I remember it all so vividly, as any mother does. A light blue makeshift curtain hid the lower half of my body where the doctors were working. My skin pressed against the straps of the operating table as my limbs continued to shake uncontrollably, not from my excitement, but from the side effects of the medicine coursing through my spine. Britton stood next to my head reassuring me while the nurses scrambled around following the doctor’s instructions. Then it happened. A full-throated, irritated cry pierced through the air. It was as though I was a tightly strung cord on a violin, and once I heard his voice for the first time, my entire being reverberated sending a ringing through my body. I was stunned. I didn’t quite understand what happened to me at the time, but it was simply that I heard my son’s cry and it struck a cord within the very fabric of my soul. It was the oddest, almost terrifying sensation, one that altered me for in that moment I became a mother.

From then on there has been this connection, this relationship with my son. In the dark hours of the night, I would awaken to the same sensation, my body ringing like a symbol being clanged upon, a few seconds later Micah would cry. He would be sick or in need of my attention, but it was as if something in me already knew that he needed me.

God has taught me so much through being a mother. Through this experience, I am reminded of Nicodemus’s reaction to Jesus in John Chapter 3. Jesus said to Nicodemus that you must be born again. Confused, Nicodemus tried to clarify by asking how a grown man could go back into his mother’s womb. Christ wasn’t talking about a literal rebirth of the body, but rather a rebirth of the soul. After we believe in Christ, commit our lives to Him, and He comes into our lives, we are forever connected. There is a rebirth within us as our soul becomes clean by the blood, through the grace and mercy of God. From then on we are forever changing into the person God desires us to be. We are a new creation.

When my son was born, my life obviously changed dramatically. I continue to endure sleepless nights, temper-tantrums, and many tests on patience. I quickly realized that mothers actually have to learn to be a mother. I continually learn how to raise my child. Then there is the joy and the love. I can’t help but love my son.

Similarly, when Christ came into my life, I became a new person. That doesn’t mean that I stopped sinning or that my struggles in life were over. It does mean, however, that my sin has been forgiven and I recognize that and try to live my life to please Christ and let Him change my heart even more everyday. Though we struggle in this world, we should always be able to go back to the beginning of our walk with Christ when we were just a newborn baby and take comfort in knowing that God is helping us grow to maturity.

A while back, Mike Blahnik shared a short scripture with Lakeside during worship. Although I cannot remember exactly what scripture he shared, I do know that he talked about the word of God. Since then, I have been trying to figure out what “the word of God” actually is in the scriptures. A passage in Psalms 119:105 says, “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path.”

In my freshman year of college I took the first of my many art history classes. In that class I fell in love with the Renaissance amidst the subtle snoring of bleary-eyed students fighting for consciousness because of the lulling projector fan that was flashing images from the past on the dark walls. I use the word love lightly here, because the real love of my life, my husband, Britton, was sitting directly behind me (if I remember correctly he was the one snoring).

Nonetheless, I was amazed at the talent and skill of the artist’s work in that time period. My favorite artist to this day is Michelangelo. No artist can compare to his range of skill or the massive commissions that he undertook. His sculpture, The Pieta, left me completely astounded and emotionally moved as it depicts Mary holding the limp body of Christ. When Michelangelo began this masterpiece, he started with little more than an intimidating boulder of marble, his chisel, and an idea. As an artist myself, the thing that drives me to make something, is the fact that you are the one making it. Your finished creation bespeaks what is in your mind. For Michelangelo, though he is long been in the ground, he still speaks to us through his creations.

I imagine God as the master artist because every other artist is simply recreating God’s creation. Michelangelo tirelessly painted the heavens on the Sistine Chapel to try and display what God has already imagined and flawlessly created. God, in the beginning of time started out with nothing except Himself and His own thoughts and intentions. Then, He spoke the world into being using words. His words, His thoughts, His concepts outlined the physical boundaries of the earth, the laws of nature, and every single detail that makes each creation different from the next. At the sound of His voice, like the stroke of a brush, the first souls were perfectly formed to be the masterpieces that they are.

While these thoughts are threatening to fling themselves out of my ability to comprehend, let alone explain, I want to express this one thing. Our Bible, God’s scripture, is His holy word. He allowed men like Moses, David, and Paul to record His thoughts and His ways on paper or tablets to preserve them for future generations. But His word is not just the scriptures in our Bibles. His word is His thought, His will, His desire. God himself lights our path because He is the one who created the world we live in, and yes, our very souls. Who better to know our path than our sculpture who carved out every facet of our being?

My mind is about to have to reboot when thinking about all of this. Oh, but it is so awesome to be able to attempt to understand our creator, and to think of how much He delights in our trying.

 

The other night, Matt and Becky Jones took my family out to dinner at The Pizza Factory to give Britton a break after way too many brutal days at work. I had never eaten there before, and was definitely pleased with the food. We did have to persevere through an ordeal back in the kitchen with a broken pipe. For a while, we didn’t get our drinks, or the breadsticks Matt had ordered. I wasn’t prepared for what was to come.

Our drinks arrived, but then… the breadsticks arrived too. Stretching almost two whole feet off of the table, these massive buttery parmesan-crusted breadsticks spiraled into the air like a giant bread bouquet melting my heart and making my pregnant tummy rumble. They not only looked good, but they tasted divine.

Over dinner, I kept peering through the breadstick bouquet at Becky who was wrestling with her little one-year-old, Andrew. Now, Andrew melts my heart even more than those breadsticks with his chubby cheeks and precious little grins where he scrunches his nose. This evening, Andrew was anything but content. Before our appetizers and pizza had arrived, this little guy was hungry. He dined on a fruit cup, which he thoroughly enjoyed. Unfortunately, that just wasn’t enough. He wanted more. Feeding him from the never-ending vase full of bread that dominated the table should have easily solved this problem. I don’t know what that little guy tasted when Becky poked a piece of fluffy buttery bread into his mouth, but whatever it was, he abruptly spit it out. Becky sighed in frustration then said, “He won’t hardly eat anything that fills him up. All he eats are things like fruit…”

I am confident that Andrew will learn one day to eat bread and meat, but will we? I was mulling over that dinner this week when I thought of my own life at present. When was the last time I dug into God’s word and feasted upon the truths that He reveals to us there? I am just like Andrew who loves the light sugary fare, but won’t give the real food a chance to fill him up. I feel that the Holy Spirit has blessed our church by showing up and moving our hearts on Sunday mornings. The reason why I am so confident of this is because I know that I am moved nearly every Sunday morning in worship or even convicted during the sermon. From my experience and other people’s experiences in Life Group, I think that God is doing work there as well. While God does move there, He longs to do so much more on an individual basis. He wants us to dine with Him everyday and feast upon His word and to be filled with peace as we pray and listen to Him. When we neglect our God daily, we aren’t getting all the nutrients our souls crave.

Hebrews 5:12-14 says, “In fact, though by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you the elementary truths of God’s word all over again. You need milk, not solid food! Anyone who lives on milk, being still an infant, is not acquainted with the teaching about righteousness. But solid food is for the mature, who by constant use have trained themselves to distinguish good from evil.”

If you are in the same spot as I find myself in, do yourself a favor. Please don’t beat yourself up and try to fix it all on your own. Simply pray to God to give you the desire to dig in to what He has in store for you. He lavishes His grace and mercy on us because we will all fall short and have times of failure. Live in His grace, and pray for Him to give you desire.

In Britton’s sermon last Sunday, he mentioned the word “community.” It seems like God has brought that word to my attention a lot since moving here, perhaps simply because here at Lakeside community such an integral part of the makeup of this church.

When we look at the early church, we see that everything that would normally bring a group of people together like social standing, hobbies and interests, or even cultural background is not in place. In the book of Acts there people from all walks of life being brought together to establish the body of Christ, which is the church. To begin with, Christ chose fisherman and tax collectors to be his disciples. Later, after the cross, Christ shows himself to Paul, an upper-class Pharisee whose education way surpassed those “lowly” disciple’s. Traditionally language is an obvious divider among people groups, but in Acts Chapter 2 at Pentecost, the Holy Spirit breaks down the language barrier. Now, at this point in the early church, everyone has at least one thing in common, their Jewish heritage. Yet, God throws even that commonality away within His young church when He extends His grace to the Gentiles in Acts Chapter 10 through Peter’s vision. This means that God, the God of Judah from the Old Testament, opened His arms to the people of Israel as well as every other nation. The Messiah, our Christ died for everyone’s sin. Whatever is behind bringing such a diverse group of people together to completely change the world must be a VERY powerful source.

Our Lord makes it clear that His church is supposed to be made up of a diverse group of people from every nation and tongue, but what is the reason for this?

Through Christ all the things that divide us are eliminated as He becomes the common denominator. He receives all of the praise and recognition in a body of believers because the most important thing we share together is the grace of God that is transforming our lives. This community that we share is a blessing from God meant to further His name. Beautiful, isn’t it?

How much do you weigh? That is a question that I avoid answering and asking myself, especially as of late with me being six months pregnant, so, sorry to ask such a personal question. But, before you get all red-faced and your veins start popping out of your neck for my rudeness, let me clarify.

Recently, I listened to a podcast from a pastor in the Dallas, TX area. In that sermon, he beautifully described the glory of God using one simple word, weight. Think about it. The word glory in and of itself is a somewhat ambiguous term in the Christian life. We use it all of the time to talk about the awesomeness of God, but what does it mean? Dictionary.com says, “very great praise, honor, or distinction bestowed by common consent; renown.”

In Exodus Chapter 33, Moses boldly asks the Lord to see His glory; to which the Lord replies, “you cannot see my face, for no one may see me and live.” God’s glory, His very presence, is too much for us to handle. Our physical bodies cannot withstand the force of God’s glory. In that same moment with Moses, God states that He will let His name be known in Moses’s presence; He would sheild Moses with His hand and hide him in the cleft of the rock, so that, after the Lord’s glory passed by, Moses could see the Lord’s back.Moses leaves this meeting with the Lord, his face radiantly glowing, bringing fear to all the people of Israel who gazed upon him. Our God is powerful, His name awe inspiring, His face magnificient, His mercy unending, His will definite, and His soveriegnty unfathomable. Thus, there is none like the Lord. In the grand scheme of things, He weighs more than all of us. His purpose matters millions of times more than our own intentions. 

In my mind, most of the time, I weigh more than anyone else around me. What is going on in my life simply matters too much to me, and I struggle to see anything outside of my own experiences. If something is going wrong in my world like family finances, physical ailments, or emotional hurts, I tend to dwell on those things. The problem begins to weigh on me and it becomes so much greater in my impaired vision than my God. Yet, the truth is that He weighs so much more than all of that. God is the one orchestrating my universe, making everything fall in line with what He desires. Ultimately, the outcome of our lives is for one beautiful thing…His glory. We get to be a part of the intricate tapestry that displays His beauty to the nations. Being a follower of Jesus Christ makes us children of God through His awesome grace and mercy.

Let me encourage you to continually ask yourself how much you weigh in your own mind. The answer may be a bit more humbling than what you originally thought. Dig deeply, Lakeside, and find truth.