There is a war. It’s invisible and I’m dramatic for bringing it up with coffee in my hand at a table tucked in the back of Panera. But I feel it. I feel it even sitting here at my Panera table on a 70 degree day when everything should be blissful or at least perfectly average.
Everything hurts inside and my life is not falling apart. Nobody is sick, our bills are paid, and I am drinking coffee. So it’s slightly mysterious why my soul physically hurts in my chest, apart from this truth:
For I know that in me, that is, in my flesh, dwells no good thing. Rom. 7:18
The sins I can hide become acceptable and so I accept them. I tuck them back where no one sees and I let them grow. Then I am surprised when I feel sick from chasing everything I knew would make my insides hurt.
So here is my confession today:
God, I am chasing comfort instead of you.
I would rather have a day full of all my favorite things than a moment tasting you. I belittle you and the offense is so great because I offend someone so great. You made my bones and saved me from all of this sin and I want my car to be clean more than I want to see your face. Because your face is invisible and feels hard to find and I want what I can see that feels easy. You feel costly and impossibly invisible, honestly.
I’m chasing my glory instead of yours:
I write things about you and I want people to like them and even like you so that they will like me. But you make sand. You make it and spread it out under all the oceans because that would make a nice bottom of the ocean and I am alright completely consuming my mind with my reputation, while You, the sand God watch me try to make myself look important. You might laugh at me while I try to look important and you’re making sand, stars, and people... accept that it’s not funny.
I know that nothing good lives in me apart from you. You are it- the only good in me, the only thing that I chase that doesn’t make me feel more empty. I really crave you even though you are invisible. Thank you for forgiving the most offensive sinners, those of us who think we sin small.