A chicken and a pig were talking.
The chicken says, “Hey! We should totally open a restaurant!”
To which the pig replies, “Totally! What should we name it?”.
“Ham and eggs” says the chicken.
The excitement falls from the pig’s face and he declines the idea of the restaurant altogether.
“Why not?” whines the chicken.
“Because you’re only involved in contribution, for me, it’s a total commitment.”
In the journey with His disciples, two of them ask Jesus a favour; that at the end of it all, they bask in the glory of sitting at the right and left hand of Jesus. He replies, “You don’t know what you are asking for.”
You don’t know what you’re asking for.
I want to be honest. It’s important, I think, to be honest with yourself.
It’s getting harder as a follower of Christ for me.
Im not 100% sure why, but there. I said it.
The intimacy gets better, but the choices get tougher.
It’s harder today than it was yesterday. I have this sinking feeling that it’ll be harder tomorrow. Not in a I-want-to-turn-agnostic way but more of a shouldn’t-this-get-easier sorta train of thought.
I’ve read about it; that a progressive journey in Christ is a bottle-neck journey; narrow is the path and all yet I feel nothing I have read in the past could prepare me for the current mounting pressures.
Why does it seem like the cost gets higher? Or that I seem to gradually have more to lose.
10 years ago I’d lay my every desire down and say “Take take take it all!” with mucho gusto.
Today, I sat in church, slumped a little over my seat because I’ve been slowly calculating the cost of those very words.
Not the cost of being a Christian, mind you. That part is a walk in the park. Pffft, best decision ever.
I’m talking about the cost of being a disciple. The bitter drink in His goblet with which I’m not even worthy to let my lips brush the brass mouth of.
Therein lies the schism. A result of a ground-shaking discovery.
10 years ago I craved a crown. Today He requires me to carry a cross.
I don’t know if *I* have what it takes to pay the cost but more than the burden of reaching a standard, the fear of failing or the discrepancies between flesh and ferocious will, I trust Him to mettle me through, one day at a time.
One day at a time, Lord. One day at a time.
Heaven meets earth with a sloppy wet, kiss. I like sloppy, wet kisses.
Note to self: Explore this new found sympathy for Liverpool losing.
Thinking of: Oh, How He loves us so and Kari Jobe’s Forever.