My family and I are sharply sarcastic. The mental acuity and social attentiveness required to appropriately time delivery, melded with reference appeals to and amuses us.
(I know. This is a dangerous habit and the responsibility to accurately “read” the situations we’re in is ours. And, sometimes we’re brilliant. Other times, we wound. All for another post…perhaps.)
So when we say, “I think I’m going to have a heart attack and die from that surprise!” the sarcasm meter is redlining, and we mean just the opposite.
That phrase played over and over and over in my thinking yesterday, and even though I prayed it wouldn’t have cause to, it was expected.
Because yesterday I went against my nature. I purposed to do battle with my flesh. And there’s nothing my flesh likes more than to rise up and demand its perceived needs be met or its discomforts assuaged.
My broken, weary, downcast, discouraged, and self-righteous heart purposed to make its faltering but repentant journey towards resurrection. Each Lenten step was to be an exercise in yielding my unbelief to the hope that God will produce belief.
To be clear, I’m not referencing that kind of belief that wrestles with assurance. I am His. Undoubtedly. Assuredly. Completely. All my days are secure in the completed work of Christ, helped by the Holy Spirit, and held together by God.
It's belief that changes my every day, that changes how I love my neighbor, how I serve my family, and particularly how I help my beloved. This is what rises up to challenge the day.
Yesterday’s practices were pure hearted, born of sincerity and held up by the promises of Scripture, the discipline of prayer, and gritty obedience. The battle raged. Flesh cried loud and required much.
Are you surprised? I wasn’t. Back to the sarcastic comment. No heart attacks here.
Change a few words.
My heart was under attack.
I’ve got my armor on today. Early morning scriptures and prayer have set my course and like the psalmist, I will:
“Put my hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God.”