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From 1 Corinthians 15:1-9….
The first thing I did was place before you what was placed so emphatically before me: that the Messiah died for our sins, exactly as Scripture tells it; that he was buried; that he was raised from death on the third day, again exactly as Scripture says; that he presented himself alive to Peter, then to his closest followers, and later to more than five hundred of his followers all at the same time, most of them still around (although a few have since died); that he then spent time with James and the rest of those he commissioned to represent him; and that he finally presented himself alive to me. It was fitting that I bring up the rear. I don’t deserve to be included in that inner circle, as you well know, having spent all those early years trying my best to stamp God’s church right out of existence.
But because God was so gracious, so very generous, here I am. And I’m not about to let his grace go to waste. Haven’t I worked hard trying to do more than any of the others? Even then, my work didn’t amount to all that much. It was God giving me the work to do, God giving me the energy to do it. So whether you heard it from me or from those others, it’s all the same: We spoke God’s truth and you entrusted your lives.
Some days I think I may fall apart. It’s all too much. Wife to my husband. Wife to my pastor. Mother of four. Daughter. Friend. And, just me. The Teacher. The Writer. The Blogger.
In the days where I live outside His grace, it’s all too much. It’s not that He takes the grace away. I remove myself, not literally of course—His grace is with me always, but I don’t always choose to live in it. It’s like having life giving oxygen available to me, part of me and yet somehow I turn it off. I try to live without it. How crazy it that right? I know, I never said it was a good thing.
But, now, this April. As a thirty something approaching Easter, and milestones with my children and major transition with my family….I look at Christ. His redemption for our lives. His ministry, and death. His powerful resurrection that leaves me with hope and a future. A calling and mission.
It’s the glue. The glue that pieces me back together when I melt. His power is the glue that pushes me back up like a falling easel ready to give in. His love stretches around me and through me like glue forcing my aching bones to move, my heavy feet to step, and my cast down head to steady. To focus.
He’s the glue. His resurrection power is available to me and lives in me through His Holy Spirit.
I can live another day. Another year for Him. And I’m not about to let his grace go to waste.