“Be still, and I know that I am God.” “If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.“
These are the lines swirling through my mind tonight. I am convicted, more than I have been in a long time: I lost the love somewhere along the way. I don’t know when or where, but I lost it, and have become the hollowness of a pot clanging into a drawer–a harsh, abrasive sound that doesn’t enrich, instead detracting from pleasure.
I stopped being still. I didn’t breathe and let God speak as I listened. I’ve gotten caught up in my own words and thoughts and steamrolled Him. My way became the right way for people to think and act. I began to slip back into ‘us’ vs ‘them’ thinking instead of ‘us’ thinking.
Thankfully, my words for writing dried up as my love did, which is why I haven’t posted in a while, so I didn’t spread the toxin here, but I did elsewhere. I screwed up, even though most probably won’t see it because almost nothing visible changed. My inner thoughts and motivations are what shifted, but those make all the difference. Father Gregory Boyle said that “the strategy of Jesus is not centered in taking the right stand on issues, but rather on standing in the right place–with the outcast and those relegated to the margins.” I lost my footing. I grew focused on the issues and making sure everyone thought the way that I did and so lost the very heart of Jesus.
Father hear my cry, then hush me so that I listen to your still small voice. Stop my clanging cymbal and restore your loving song. My heart has ceased. Please restore it. Help me love others more than I love my own voice.
“Behold, I am making all things new!”
This is the promise to which I cling amidst my shifting sand.
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