To the lost and lonely. The outcasts. Downtrodden. And forgotten. This one’s for you. But don’t worry. It’s for me, too.
We all long for a place to belong. A place to call home. And it’s more than a building with a front door. We desire something more.
Does God have a home? Yes. But it may surprise you to know His address.
In the Old Testament, God dwelt in a temple. Behind a curtain. In the Most Holy Place. Where only the highest priest could go. And he had a lamb to show.
Once a year. For the forgiveness of sins. But it never made amends.
So God put Himself in our shoes. Through the person of Jesus Christ. To be the perfect sacrifice.
Charles Swindoll says, “I am convinced that life is 10% what happens to me and 90% how I react to it.” While I’m no statistician, I’m pretty sure he’s right. At least close.
Nearly a year ago, I graduated high school. As I walked across the stage, Proverbs 16:9 was read. “We can make our plans, but the LORD determines our steps” (NLT). And let me tell you, I’m finding this verse to be true.
I had plans. Godly plans. I had just received a big scholarship to a Christian university. I had just given a graduation speech that escalated quickly in the community. I was being recognized on Walk-FM as a “World Changer.” I had a girlfriend who I genuinely felt God had given me. For the most part, life was good.
Thursday was a special day for my family. We welcomed a new member. Not through birth. But through adoption. My amazing aunt and uncle adopted a beautiful nine-year-old girl.
Her name is Chloe. And I’m so happy to be her big cousin. But as I ponder this special day, I can’t help but share a message with you. Because Chloe reminds me of my own adoption.
Chloe left the courthouse with a new name. A new birth certificate. A new identity. Why? Because someone willingly chose her. Not because she did anything spectacular.
And that’s my story.
As an education major, I’m required to observe elementary classrooms. I do it on Tuesdays. The majority of the class consists of boys with Autism. I love it.
Last Tuesday, I stayed for recess. As I sat in the “teacher chair,” I noticed the boys playing iPads together. A number of them sat on a large ABC rug. I decided to sit on the rug with them. Why not? I like Minecraft, too.
A couple of minutes later, one of the teachers said, “We have another student!” It was encouraging to hear.
I enjoyed it. And the boys did, too. We watched Hulu and played games. One of the boys used me as a backrest. Oh well. I reckon that’s what big boys are for. I decided to become one of them for about thirty minutes. Lowering myself to their level, I put myself in their shoes.
That’s what God did.
It’s the word you hear as you stand in a long line. It’s the word you push away while you wait in traffic. What am I talking about? Patience.
“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience …” (Gal. 5:22 ESV). Yep. There’s the word we’re trying to avoid. But we can’t. Patience is a manifestation of the Spirit’s work in our lives. It’s not an option for the believer. But how? That’s the million-dollar question.
Let’s talk about road rage.