Does anyone read ever these Christian cliches and just go blah blah blah, yeah, I know, whatever.
Well, I do.
Or, I did before God humbled like He sweetly does.
You see, it hit me one day-- I am in the Word daily but it's not always my nourishing bread to be digested and broken down and absorbed and spread throughout veins as fresh vitality.
No, I often treat the Word, and those shining treasures known as His promises, as I treat real-life cake at my worst times:
Writing that, I think, isn't that so warped?
But I know that it's a real soul-sickness and I know I'm not alone in that.
How I wish those lies would just know the victory!
Ah, but they have.
He reminds me of this one great thing.
He reminds me that ingesting His Word, breathing in God-breathed, refreshing fountains of truth and peace as they are-- it's what He died to enable for me who has been graciously made His daughter.
That I, the starving sinner, could eat and be filled and more filled and blessed satisfied by entering His presence without restraint,
all thanks to that rugged cross and that beautiful Savior.
Why would I deprive myself of this,
Why treat these promises as indulgent cake not to be touched by the likes of me?
Did I forget that Jesus came mighty to save and touched me anyway, in my disgusting mess,
made a way by His blood and His pain and His sweat and His wounds,
that my wounds, my cancer called sin,
that it would be healed,
and that healing known in full by promises gifted graciously over and over.
Will I let the pride, the lies, the self-induced pressure, the doubt, the fear,
will I let these things be the barrier between me and my treatment,
between a starving soul and its daily bread
and a King from the glory He is more than due?
I will not, no, not any longer.
It is not cake, and but it's just as sweet.
It is freely given, free to be believed and nourishing,
and with Christ, it is not too far above me, but for me as I am, and for His glory unending.
What a Savior,
what a gift,
what a feast to be had in His presence inhaling His exhale strewn across ancient pages,
and I will lap it up, like I'm meant to,
believing it fully, and partaking in it unrestrained.