Tuesday, January 12, 2010
There are times when I wish a testimony really were transferrable. Oh, I know it's for the best that it can't be, but I wish it could be, sort of like a stem cell transplant. I would be first in line to volunteer as a donor. I would love to have my stem cells of belief, my 'believing blood', drip into him. It doesn't work that way. I know.
Found this tucked in my journal pages today. Loved it then, love it today. (Sorry I can't quote the source, I am notoriously bad about that).
.. like Thomas and Mary and the disciples, we all live in moments and days and maybe even longer periods of unbelief. Those times when we don’t believe, don’t trust, don’t hope and lose faith. Even though we have seen the empty tomb, even though we have heard the promise of the risen Lord, even though we have accounts of eye witness testimony, in spite of all evidence to the contrary we live a life that reflects unbelief—afraid of being taken advantage of, afraid of being fooled, afraid of being hurt. We live as though Christ hasn’t died and been raised for us and as though—in fact—it all depends on us. That in fact, we have to save ourselves.
In those times the Savior comes to us, the risen Lord but with his wounds still showing and he says, I know your fear. I know your sadness. I know your pain. And I love you, when you believe and when you don’t, when you have faith and when you don’t, when you trust, and maybe especially when you don’t. The Savior comes with his wounds and calls us back to a place of hope, a place of faith, a place of belief—where we can journey faithfully—even with all our questions.
The assurance and comfort you were asking for in our conversation last night, it's there, gb. It was there all the time. Like Dorothy from Oz, click your heels dear boy and go home. She had the ability to do it all along. So do you.