We can't pour out grace to others when we haven't filled up the grace-tank ourselves. If we go just one day without refueling our ministering sputters. Stops.
Feel dry? Fill up.
If I was more consistent the drought would never threaten near. But I'm not, and so parched wind blows in tonight. Then I keep trying to give grace.
And I fail.
Stinging, dusty wind in my eyes. I snap. My Mom, I call her "Beautiful" but in the drought she becomes just mom. Just mom? The one whose grace-tank hardly ever ran out on me; healing water constant flow.
See what grace-lacking kills?
Small sister. So many fears. Uncertainties like mine. Grace calls her "Cutie" and wants to protect the vulnerable spots; threatening wind blows the irritation in. The one who calls me crazy and loves me still. Knows how to make me smile big.
See what grace-lacking kills?
Body. Christ's Body. All members working for one glory. His. Drought wind blows in and pained eyes turn toward self, clenched. Outsiders blinded to love, hope, and peace. Stolen. Light puts itself out and all is darkness.
See what grace-lacking kills?
Inconsistency = Grace-lacking.
Grace-lacking kills.
Inconsistency kills.
Daily grace is given. Is daily grace received?
Not just enough to keep our engine running, but enough to start those broken down along the path. Grace-tank overflowing.
Let grace lick this cracked ground. Fill up. Drink in. Dig deep.
No comments:
Post a Comment