Psalms 32:1-2, 5, 6, 7
The young man was so bright. He lit up the classroom. That one is smiled upon; he will go far. Somewhere down the line, his thinking scrambled. A new idea clamped down hard. It came up in every discussion: whatever we think is possible. If it can be said, you can’t rule it out, he’d insist. Conversation died with that line; he could go no further. What was promising fell short. The path had disappeared. There were no markers to trust. Anything is possible leaves blankness, not freedom. The wilderness claimed him.
We mean to lift each other up. “For you, no doors are closed. You can do whatever you want. Anything is possible.” Our intentions are kindly. This desire runs deep: it would be great to get it all. Not to miss out on anything. Leave the door open, even a crack. Don’t say no for keeps.
The man was sad. He had kept the commandments; he had done his part. What more could God want? Jesus looked at him with love. The next step sounded liked madness. “Give your wealth to the poor and follow me. I will be your strength and protection. I will comfort you in the night. You will be safe.”
How do we keep the sadness away? We try so hard and still fall short. This life of ours, these children, this God, this job. What more do they want? To pick the bones clean? To squeeze this tired body through the needle’s eye? This is impossible. We have done enough.
Gospel music sings of trusting God. “Satan had me bound.
Jesus lifted me. Singing Glory, Hallelujah! Jesus lifted me.”
Beneath the “thou shalt” and the “thou shalt not” lies trust. Everyone
knows hard times. Some know no end of hard times. It
doesn’t always happen, but sometimes from sadness springs trust.
I really can’t figure it out. I’m handing it over to God. I’m
handing me over to God.
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