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Even the high places have rocks

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There are times getting away is an absolute necessity. The weariness of months of almost non-stop activity became unbearable when the hurricane blew into my life. It left me empty and broken and hurting, precariously hanging by the proverbial thread. So in the middle of duties undone and responsibilities unfulfilled, I took time off. I have family in the foothills, so in my need of deep soul healing and rest I made arrangements for a visit. And while there I went to a high place to meet with God.

Compared to living in an area that isn’t that much higher than sea level, just about any place you go is a high place. The high places of the bible, however, were not necessarily defined by elevation. They were places designated for worship, for meeting with God. Jesus changed that by giving us His Spirit to dwell within, but there’s still something to be said for finding a way to meet with God in your own high place. A place where intentional worship will occur. Worship that is free to be messy and frustrated and tearful and even angry if that’s what needs to be dealt with. I believe the greatest worship we offer God is our attention, acknowledging He is, fearlessly coming to Him with no pretense that we are anything but who we are in that moment.

I found a place beside still waters where I set up “camp” – my folding chair, my blanket, my bible and journal, and of course, my coffee. I had determined to stay until I heard God. It was a perfect day with cool temps, a bright blue sky, low mountains in the distance. I sat for a while just taking it all in. The beauty of nature has always moved me and this day was no different. Combine that with the events that preceded this escape and the tears flowed readily. I knew it shouldn’t and couldn’t be rushed, this seeking of answers from God.

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I’d opened my bible to Isaiah without a lot of forethought, flipped through the pages and stopped at the first thing I saw highlighted – “but those who wait for the Lord…” (40:31). I wasn’t even giving it much thought when I looked up and saw three bald eagles effortlessly moving above. If you are not familiar with the rest of that verse, it speaks of renewing your strength and soaring as eagles. God’s good that way, you know?

I knew this time wasn’t going to be one of lengthy bible passages or deep, wordy prayers, but rather just “being still and knowing”. I got up to walk along the edge of the water, exploring the view surrounding me. Now, if you’ve ever been in a mountainous area you know you there are rocks. Lots of rocks. To walk along a shoreline every step must be strategic lest you want to face plant on the stones or take a tumble into the waters. Honestly, I’d rather walk on pristine white sand with clear blue water washing in waves over my feet, mindlessly moving along, not having to measure every step. It’s hard to walk on rocks.

We have a tendency to think that if we’re obedient, if we’re following where God leads, if we keep our hearts right and strive to learn and grow, the walk will become smoother, easier. And it does. But there will always be rocks. There will always be people He brings into our lives that grate on our nerves. There will be responsibilities that He calls us to that are difficult and frustrating. There will be challenges as He moves us into the uncomfortable. There will be pressures demanding action and questions He seems to be slow to answer. There will be rocks.

I returned to my chair, picked up my bible, and begin to skim the next few verses. One phrase was repeated several times and caught my attention “…I will help you…”  I’ve had some wonderful times with God in the past when many words were exchanged and I was led to intense study. This was not one of those times. The four words of that phrase brought me more peace than I’d experienced in months. There were details I still wanted Him to speak to, situations for which I still needed His counsel, wounds that needed to be healed. But this day it was enough to know He would help me. This day was to worship amid the rocks in the high place.

 

Even the high places have rocks” was written by Kay Stinnett and first appeared on http://www.ourpassionatepurpose.com

 

 

 

 

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Good conversations

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This post is dedicated to Sue Rozell – my mentor, my sister in Christ, my friend who this week went home to be with our Lord.  I will truly miss our good conversations.

Lately I have been spending most of my time at home alone, focused on work and projects that have deadlines with not a lot of wiggle room.  I very much enjoy this time alone in productivity and gain a great sense of satisfaction in the creative process, but still I often lay my head down at night feeling that something is missing.  I realized driving home from my visit with my sister last week what it is: Conversation.  Really good conversation.

My husband is a night owl and I’m a morning person (not functioning quite as early as in days past, but most definitely at my best when the sun is rising).  It is not unusual that later in the evening he will approach a really good subject that could prompt some quality exchange.  I’ll know it is a worthy topic yet my response is often a pat reply because I simply lack the mental energy to engage.  I make a note to come back to the subject another day but the thought gets lost in the next day’s activity…

We need good conversations.  You know, the kind that make you think hard or perhaps even question your position on a matter.  Conversations where we are listening as much as talking.  Discourses that put our perceived barriers into perspective because they allow for differences.  Dialogues that stir our passions and ignite us to go deeper into the meaning of our lives.  Fearless discussions that open the paths to growth and change.  Words so rooted in love that they draw others into a refuge where masks can be dropped and freedom can be found.

In our day and time it is easy to miss the value of good conversations.  Technology that allows for the faceless relay of information has crippled us.  We often mistake social media posts for conversation, text our words of encouragement rather than take the time to call or visit, or email our responses to situations in order to avoid conversation.  Don’t get me wrong, I love the opportunities for communication that technology provides.  But I must admit, I’ve too often succumbed to the ease and efficiency of its use rather than allowing the inconvenience to my plans that real conversation may present.

I’ve known for a long time that I lack the skill to sustain chit-chat for any length of time.  I am easily bored with talk of things that are insignificant to me and that category is quite large.  I’m no fashionista, decorator, traveler, entertainer, philosopher or multitudes of other things.  I greatly appreciate the fact that God has gifted us each differently but I struggle in conversation when my very limited knowledge (and interest) of temporal things has very quickly been exhausted.  I can talk “sewing” quite well but even that only takes me so far…  Wow.  I sound reeaaaalllllyyyyy boring.

I love the opportunities I am offered to stand and speak or teach.  I am passionate about my God and my faith, ever-ready to share the things He has done in my life.  I love when the sessions allow for interaction and questions.  I no longer fear those who may disagree with my perspective because I believe in this life we have much to learn from each other. I thoroughly enjoy when someone takes the time on a break between sessions to seek me out and talk.  Really talk.

Through the years I’ve been blessed to have people in my life who have both gently led into and aggressively provoked deeper conversations.  Some have spoken truly profound things to me in the midst of simple conversations not knowing their words would have an eternal impact.  Others have come with difficult words that at the time left me speechless and feeling as if I were gasping for air, only to discover later that the painful truths exposed served to water seeds of needed change.  Many have come with exhortation and encouragement that helped keep my feet on the path that was and is mine to walk. We all need more good conversations.

I am mourning the loss of my friend and already missing the sound of her voice.  As I praise God for her life and say my goodbye, I pray that I will be half the woman of God that she was.  I want to brew more coffee and invite more people into good conversations in the hopes that some will walk away having found what I found with her – a hunger for more of Him.

 

Good conversations” was written by Kay Stinnett and first appeared on http://www.ourpassionatepurpose.com

Two Friends Young Girls Talking PAINTING BY CARL SCHWENINGER JUNIOR

Making apple roses

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It was one of those days.  Oh, not one of those days that I usually complain about, but the kind that seem to be much more elusive.  A day that was full and busy yet strangely peaceful and entirely enjoyable.  I had a plan and lots to do and normally I approach those days with an over-complicated list and an expectation of perfection.  My nature is to map it all out with the end goal being production not fun.  But not yesterday.

Kylie had spent the night and I considered having her mom pick her up right after morning service as I had so much to do in preparation for our ladies event that evening.  But having only very recently received the Best Grandma Award

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I decided to invite her to stay and help me with the new recipe I had in mind.  She graciously accepted my invitation and after a quick lunch of mac and cheese and frozen chicken-somethings that neither of us liked, we began.  We measured and mixed and microwaved.  We stirred and patted and rolled and had more than a few tastes along the way.  We spread and poured and sifted until it looked as if a snow storm had blown through the kitchen.

And I watched.

I watched her concentrate as she placed single blueberries in just the right spot.  I watched the movement of her hands as she lay apple slices on the pastry dough and carefully rolled it into a flower.  I watched her delight as we took our apple roses from the oven and they were just as beautiful as the picture in the video recipe.  I looked at her little face with blueberry juice smeared on her forehead and sugar powdering her cheeks and experienced a depth of love and height of joy that perhaps only a grandmother knows.

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My trek to the coffee pot this morning found me walking a little funny as my feet experienced the stickiness of spilled apricot preserves that remained after a rapid attempt to wipe them up.  The adhesive nature of my steps lasted only a few seconds as they were then quickly coated with the flour and powdered sugar that easily blended with the color of the tile.  I hate walking barefoot on dirty floors, but rather than let annoyance take over and begin the process of cleaning, I put on my slippers, fixed my coffee and replayed the previous day in my mind.  The evening was very, very good with Chandra Peele as our speaker.  I encourage you to check out her website Chandra Peele and invite her to your next ladies event!  But I’m sorry, Chandra, as much as I truly enjoyed and appreciated your wonderful message, it wasn’t the best part of my day.  The best part was that in all the “work” we had to do that afternoon, I got to enjoy my granddaughter.

I love that she wasn’t worried about making a mess.  I love that she is relaxed with me and unafraid of making mistakes.  I love that she is completely confident that I am there to help with anything she needs.  I love that she knows I will be pleased with her best effort and that is what makes the results perfect to me.  (I only wish that my children had known this me.)

I talk about her a lot.  A LOT.  I can’t help it.  Having children taught me so much about God as my Father, but having grandchildren takes it to a whole new level!  He reminds me when I look at her with love that is inexpressible that He looks at me the same.  He tells me again and again that I need have no fear of making mistakes or asking for His help.  He encourages me to relax and just enjoy His presence in all the “work” I have to do.  And once again I ask myself “Why do I make it all so complicated?”

I have a lot to do today.  A lot to do this week.  And I’m already behind schedule.  But rather than take on the pressure of my own very-often-unrealistic expectations, I want to enjoy His presence in everything I do, confident that He is with me to help with anything I need and unafraid of making mistakes.  I may make a few messes along the way, but I can’t worry about that.  He invites me to enjoy Him and it is in this relaxed trust that I am more able to hear Him and follow where He leads rather than go my own way.

Making apple roses was much easier than I expected and most certainly more fun.  But it wouldn’t have been as much fun if I had been alone.  What do you have to do this week?  Remember, you are not alone.  Allow yourself to be loved deeply and don’t worry about making mistakes.  Be confident that it is in this trust that He will speak and lead.  Relax, refocus, and enjoy Him and understand that He is watching and enjoying you.

And for those who would like to try the recipe:  Apple Rose Tarts

 

Making apple roses” was written by Kay Stinnett and first appeared on http://www.ourpassionatepurpose.com

Photographs by Kay Stinnett and cannot be used without permission.

 

 

To be known

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CJ and I have a regular route that we walk and run together.  I’ve mapped this particular course #1 because it is a large circle, preferable when one is navigationally challenged, and #2 because it is exactly 2 miles and easy to calculate my efforts when I’m inclined to do so.  I noticed this distinctly marked driveway on the very first time around and it made me smile.  It still makes me smile every time I see it.  I suspect it is the result of an action without much forethought nor concern for what the local home owners association would have to say about it.   Just a young boy with a can of spray paint upon which the thought comes to mind to write his name.

I’ve wanted to photograph this signature for a while now but as it is private property and I intended to post the photo on the internet, I thought it wise to obtain permission lest I be considered some kind of creeper with a camera in the neighborhood.  I decided on my round with CJ Saturday morning that I would knock on the door and ask.  As I approached, however, there was no need to knock for the woman of the house was outside with her dog.  From the street I told her how every time I walk by her drive it makes me smile.  She warmly replied that her son had scrawled his name there years ago and while she felt she should probably do something to remove it and the now older teenage boy strongly encourages her to do so, she leaves it as is because it makes her smile, too.  She graciously permitted me to take the picture and I promised that I would drop by a copy of the blog once written.

One of my granddaughters is the age now that her son was when he made his mark.  She loves to write and gifts of paper and pen are always welcomed and treasured.  She writes her name and I love the perfectly imperfect way her letters and words form on the pages.  She writes little stories and draws pictures and writes simply for the love of writing, the strokes of the pen leaving an imprint of who she is now that will not be forgotten no matter the years that pass.  It is a bittersweet ache this grandmother’s heart feels as I watch her grow up faster than I would like.

It is not uncommon for children to write their names.  A lot.  On papers and tablets and books.  In the dirt with a stick or spelled out with rocks.  In the sand where the next waves will quickly wash it out to sea.  Carved in trees and picnic tables and more than a few desks.  And of course, the occasional driveway.

For some children perhaps it is a cry for help, a need for immediate attention.  But I think for the most part they are simply the declarations that  I was here.  This is me.  I am.   An unconscious, unemotional expression of the need to be known, a need we all have that deepens and most definitely becomes more emotional as we grow older.  We want others to know who we truly are, often before we even really know ourselves.  We sometimes seek relationships to complete us.  We enter professions where our talents and abilities can define us and accolades are our measure of who we are.  And while these things may bring a great deal of satisfaction and fulfillment it is not unusual to struggle with insecurities once left alone and all is quiet.  Who really knows us?  And if they did really know, would they still love us? Are me making our mark on this world in way that matters?

I think of how we look at our own children and see things they cannot see and know things they cannot know about themselves.  To know them is so much more than knowing what they do.  It’s recognizing the briefest of looks that crossed their face when no one else saw it.  It’s understanding their joys and pains when they have no words to describe them.  It is knowing that you’ve looked at that little face so many times you have every freckle memorized and would know if one should fade away.  And yet, we are still limited by our humanity when it comes to knowing another completely.

But there is One who knows.  He knew us before we were ever created in the womb.  He knows the very number of hairs on our head.  He calls us to come to Him as His children, unafraid in His presence.  We are fearfully made and unconditionally loved not because of what we do but for the simple fact that we exist.  We are accepted through Jesus as if we have never erred, sung and danced over with unadulterated joy in the heavens.  The impact we desire to make, the peace we search for, the fulfillment we long for is founded in a truth that is ours for the taking – we are known by Him.

 

To be known” was written by Kay Stinnett and first appeared on http://www.ourpassionatepurpose.com

Photograph by Kay Stinnett and cannot be used without permission.

 

 

Afraid of the storms

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This is CJ, our new dog.  He’s 62 pounds of solid muscle with a scary sounding bark to those who don’t know he’s really a softy who loves people.  He seriously enjoys taking me for a walk and will approach with confidence any other living thing we encounter.  But he has a secret.  He’s scared of thunder.  He’s had a difficult time lately as we have experienced week after week after week of severe thunderstorms where we live.  He paces the floor in an effort to find a safe place, his whole body shaking in fear.  This is what he chose one day last week – to stand in the corner and face the door.  I imagined he was saying to himself “Just don’t look and it will all go away…”  He stayed there for over an hour.

I’m new to this whole dog ownership thing in that this is the first time in a long time I’ve had a dog I actually wanted to interact with.  Before adopting CJ, I had never walked a dog on a leash, taken one to a veterinarian, considered whether or not the dog food was acceptable, or been willing to tolerate the hair that now seems to be everywhere.  I find myself strangely concerned about how he feels and if he is happy in his new home.  And I hate it when he’s scared.

I am there with him through the storms and I do everything I can to let him know it’s ok.  But short of learning how to speak dog, I am at a loss as to how to convince him that he is safe.  The scary sounds are louder than the truth.

I spent a great deal of my life trying to hide the fact that I was scared.  From my earliest memories, fear has been a predominant emotion, many times undefined and most certainly unspoken.  How can you tell someone you are afraid when often you don’t even know what you’re afraid of?  A vague sense of impending doom always seemed to hover near.  Through the years and some pretty major life errors, this fear grew and I became afraid of life’s storms. Past failures were the thunder that boomed of my incompetence in life and deepened my dread of the failures that were surely ahead of me.  I’ve paced when the inevitable storm was approaching, I’ve trembled during its onslaught, and I’ve crumbled in the aftermath.  And for the most part, I’ve kept it to myself.

It was easy to hide my secret because I’ve always been an optimistic and generally happy person.  But this only accentuated the inward conflict.  I was a strong and confident person in so many ways.  But when I found myself alone, particularly at night, the clouds would roll in and the thunder would sound, and I would succumb to the fears once again.

I even attempted to let down my guard and ask for help a couple of times.  The ones I entrusted with my secret found it impossible to either understand or believe as my personality and attitude were more convincing and they didn’t take my fears very seriously.  They offered simple advice and familiar scriptures and I politely walked away believing that this kind of vulnerability just wasn’t worth it.  So I stayed silent. And afraid.

CJ reminded me of these times as I watched him shake in the corner.  He was safe but he didn’t know it.  I shared a bit of these experiences with a bible study group last night and this very familiar scripture:

…and you shall know the Truth and the Truth shall set you free…  John 8:32 

Many who do not believe in God or Jesus or the bible often quote this scripture, but they only quote the second half – that the truth will set you free.  If that were so, then everyone would be living free lives because the Truth has come.  The existence of truth is not what sets us free.  It’s the truth that we know that sets us free, and this knowing is more than the intellectual acceptance.  It is truly believing the truth because it is the truth and not based on how we feel.

I’d quoted the scriptures and spoken the prayers, seemingly to no avail.  I did all that I knew to do and nothing worked because I didn’t know the truth upon which all others are based:  God loved me.  I intellectually accepted that He loved me because the bible said so and let’s face it, He is God and God is love, so He had to love me at some level.  But in the dark hours when the fear swelled, I didn’t really believe the truth of His love.

Too tired to run and hide from the storm that was upon me, and in my most desperate hours, Truth came to me:

And we know – understand, recognize, are conscious of, by observation and experience – and believe the love God cherishes for us.  God is love and he who dwells and continues in love dwells and continues in God and God dwells and continues in him.  In this union and communion with Him, love is brought to completion and attains perfection with us, that we may have confidence for the day of judgment – with assurance and boldness to face Him – because as He is, so are we in this world.  There is no fear in love – dread does not exist – but full-grown (complete and perfect) love turns fear out of doors and expels every trace of terror!   1 John 4:16-18b

The scary sounds were no longer louder than the truth  – God loves me and His love abides within me.  I have the power to drive fear away and to live an abundant, free life, because now I know:  God loves me.

Afraid of the storms” was written by Kay Stinnett and first appeared on http://www.ourpassionatepurpose.com

 

The dividing line

Some of you mothers and fathers will understand how happy I am when my daughter calls me to ask what I think, or even better, to ask me to pray for her when she has a need.  We’ve been close throughout her life, but of course there were years where she most definitely did not want to know what I thought.  I remember myself at that age.  Thinking that surely I was hiding my inward eye-rolling as I listened to and ignored my mother’s words at the same time.  (I had yet to learn that I am one of those people who simply cannot hide how she feels and that I would successfully pass this trait on to my daughter.)  When she calls (or texts), there is no matter too small or too unimportant or even too vague to be able to completely describe for which I will not immediately approach the throne of our Father on her behalf, and be honored to do so.

Last week something was troubling her but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.  She had wrestled with this disturbance for several days with no real understanding.  So when I received her early morning text asking me to pray, I responded to reminded her that God’s ways are peace and love, that He gives wisdom liberally when we ask, and that He would reveal to her what the root of the problem was and let her know if it required any other action besides casting her cares. And I prayed for exactly that.  She called later the same day to share with me what God had revealed to her.  Problem solved.  Peace restored.  And a mother’s heart blessed.

She has learned to be sensitive to her spirit.  (She was listening!!)  This is the foundation of what it means to be made in His likeness, to house the very presence of God within, and the only way we can learn to yield our body and soul to His Spirit.  This is the filter through which every thought, emotion, and experience should go so that we can discern what is pleasing to Him.  This is the way we take every thought captive to obey Christ and live as conquerors in this life.

We are spirit.  We have a soul (mind, will, emotions).  We live in a physical body.

Our spirits have been made new.  We are new creations, old things passed away, all things become new. We have been made alive in Him, the righteousness of God, holy, blameless, and forgiven.  We have been given immeasurable love, unsurpassed peace, inexpressible joy, the same power that raised Jesus from the dead, and unbroken fellowship with God Almighty Who has chosen to overtake us and make us like Him.  Without this understanding, without truly believing this is who we are rather than just singing the praise songs and quoting the verses, we live frustrated Christian lives, constantly battling the turmoil in our souls, unable to determine which thoughts and emotions are from Him and which are our own.

So how do we tell what is from Him and what is from our own flesh or the influence of the devil?

“For the word of God is living and active and sharper than any two-edged sword, and piercing as far as the division of soul and spirit, of both joints and marrow, and able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart.”  Hebrews 4:12

There is a line that divides the soul and spirit.  The only way to discern the difference is through His word.  Studying what scripture says and allowing Him to speak to us through the written Word.  Spending time developing our fellowship with Him so that we are sensitive to when He speaks.  Agreeing with Him that He has given us everything we need pertaining to life and godliness and is our ever-present Help in times of trouble.  Believing that we have truly been made new and taking that as our identity rather than basing who we are on how we look or act or feel.

Have you ever struggled with a task to the point of frustration only to discover that you had simply been doing it backwards?  We’ve been trying to make ourselves into what we ought to be by attending church and reading our bibles and not doing this or that, focused on what we do rather than who we are.  That’s backwards.  We must first learn who we are in order to get what we do to line up right!  We must discover where the line is drawn between soul and spirit and learn to live from our spirits, outward changes coming from inward power.  Learning to live our lives from the inside out.**

**Inside Out is a new study available to your organization, church, or bible study group in a conference, workshop or retreat format.  A five-week study option is also available to those in the greater Houston, Tx area.  Testimonials and more information will be coming soon on the speaking and events tabs on http://www.ourpassionatepurpose.com

The dividing line” was written by Kay Stinnett and first appeared on http://www.ourpassionatepurpose.com

 

 

 

Separation anxiety

Year after year family photographs were captured, always with one family member absent as someone had to operate the camera.  The boys were attired in their once-a-year suits and ties.  We girls had new dresses and white shoes which embarrassed me as my spindly legs made it appear as if I had unusually large feet at the ends of them.  We were dressed up to go to church for Easter services.  We regularly attended Sunday service, so the only difference on this particular day is that we would be especially dressed and it would be more difficult to sit on our right-side, third-row-from-the-front pew if we did not arrive earlier than usual because many more people would attend this day.  The pre-service preparations involved the same flurry of activities as every other Sunday morning – the search for lost shoes and belts, the efforts to keep children clothed and still without spills or stains, and the prayer that one particular child would not get carsick on the way.  It’s a wonder my mother ever was able to relax and worship once she entered the sanctuary doors.

While we did not attend a church rich in liturgical traditions, we were taught the true meaning of Easter and what the Lord’s Supper represented.  The colored eggs and plastic grass in baskets and races to collect the greatest numbers did not detract from what I knew, even as a child, to be true.  Jesus died for my sin.  I placed my faith in Him early and throughout my struggles and challenges with life itself, this was and is the unwavering platform on which my feet remain firmly planted.  And yet, I missed a critical truth even as every year we heard the messages of His death and resurrection and the hope and victory that this act secured for us.

It is finished.

Sin is conquered, death is defeated, the veil that once separated man from God has been removed giving free and unlimited access to Almighty God to all who will enter in.  He sent His Spirit to indwell the imperfect people who would say yes to this, His invitation.  He promised to never leave us or forsake us.

So in the process of the spiritual housecleaning that I’ve done over the last few years I’ve picked up and put down a particular piece that for a while I could not determine if it fit in this temple that is me.  It is the idea that “sin separates us from God.” I’ve heard this throughout my life, continue to hear it frequently, and have been one to have said it as well.

Sin separates us from God.  It sounds true.  It feels true.  It must be true.  It was true before we came to accept this magnificent sacrifice. But as I’ve studied more deeply what Jesus said and did, I cannot find a place for this.

If Jesus paid the penalty for sin – ALL sin – how can my sin change my position with God?  How can God move away from me if He promised to indwell me and to never leave or forsake me?  Was the veil torn down only to be put up again and torn down again and put up again…?

It is finished.

Three beautiful words that cannot be reconciled with the idea that my sin brings back the veil.  Does my sin matter?  Yes.  The call to repentance remains the same, but not because it is the only way to gain access to the Father again.  We are to repent – to change our minds about sin – in order that we can live fully in the forgiveness purchased for us.  We repent so that we can receive the fullness of the blessings offered us as His children in this lifetime and beyond, to have a right mind and a soul that is free from the burdens that sin will most surely heap upon us, and to enjoy the peace that comes with a heart ready to do His will.

I have lived with a great deal of separation anxiety because of this misunderstanding, when all the while He was right there with me.  I’ve lived in fear of His absence as there were no more sorrowful words on the day of His death than “My God, My God, why have You forsaken me?”  It was agony for Jesus to be separated from His Father.  But it was an agony He endured so that we would not have to.  He is with us, faithfully leading us in the ways of righteousness, correcting – not condemning – us when we sin.  He knew we would.  Yet He has chosen a position of unfathomable mercy and extravagant love that will abide – make a permanent home – in all who will allow it.

It is finished.  This is the truth.  This is the truth that sets us free.  Free indeed!

 

Separation anxiety” was written by Kay Stinnett and first appeared on http://www.ourpassionatepurpose.com