Guilty

I have been guilty.
Guilty of allowing my defensiveness and indignation to keep me from making a full effort to understand the pain of others.
And I was blind to my guilt.
For these things, I am truly sorrowful and repentant.
I feel so frustrated that my friends and neighbors don't understand one another, and I don't do a great job understanding or explaining, myself.
I feel frustrated between a white cop friend and a black friend whose comments show they each don't understand where the other is coming from. I feel the same with friends on opposing sides of the issue of gay marriage, or who they hate more in the presidential race.
And I don't always keep my mouth shut, unfortunately.
But Jesus said His followers would be distinctly identified by their love for one another. And it's a love that is born of God's love for us, and spills out of loving Him first and others second.
May God, the Author of life and love and peace, mercifully pour out all these things on our nation.
Starting with you and me.



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Homecoming

This was written a few years ago ... Homecoming. Sunday, Chunky Baptist Church will celebrate its homecoming. My brother is the guest speaker. Lunch will follow. For a lot of us, the word "homecoming" has certain connotations -- food, fellowship, honoring a person or group, celebration, memories, friends and family. Whether associated with church, sports or anything else, little changes. But for those of us who don't live, worship or attend that "home" anymore, it's not a coming, it's a going. We're home-going. We plan, anticipate and travel in order tk be a part of the event. We're going back home. So the emphasis of the word lies really with those who are inviting. For them it is a homecoming because others will come home to where they are waiting ... to feast, fellowship, remember and catch up. I love going home. I love visiting with my family and friends and seeing how people have grown physically and otherwise. But I think what I l
Read more

A Post for My Daughter

Image
My oldest daughter and I just spent some time talking on Skype (so thankful for this program that lets us do this!). I asked her to give me a few things to write about, so she looked around her room and gave me the following: duck, pen, paper, owl, and water bottle.  So, I'll do my best! [Plus, I gave myself a 15-minute time limit to have it done and posted, so she can read it].   There once was an owl named Persimmon. Yeah, an unfortunate name, for sure, but his name, nonetheless. Persimmon was a very rare type of owl - a Tattooed Black-and-White Hill-Dweller, to be exact. As a Tattooed Black-and-White Hill-Dweller [or TBWHD], Persimmon was able to blend well into any black-and-white background, being able to hide very well in any hilly environment that had absolutely no color whatsoever (or at any tattoo symposium). This would explain why the TBWHD owls were very rare. Persimmon was not a happy owl by nature, and was want to search out small hapless mammals on which to vent h
Read more