Patrick Henry College’s journalism professor and holder of the Distinguished Chair of Journalism and Public Policy, Dr. Marvin Olasky, interviewed best-selli…
I love this woman.
I am never right, yet I insist on arguing. I dump cans and cans of worms, just to try to feel right and justified in something, but the mess builds beneath my feet, and seeps into the cracks of the floor, where it will surely reappear later. Why I do this, I’ll never know. A blind rebellious force in me just wants to drive some point home in everything I do, even if I end up in a fatal accident on the way there (which happens often). And the fear arises again that I have nothing good or tactful to say. Who can bear me? I practically wake up angry and dwell on the bile that turns my stomach to deliberately feed my peevishness. Do I just think myself above civil kindness? And most shamefully, I try to go before the Lord with my bile heart. The hammer of His conviction comes down hard, and I strain to plead innocent, but how can I stand against Him, when He already knows? The worms emerge from the cracks.
The place I’m in now is distressingly familiar. I’m in the place of paranoia that all I do is vanity. It’s as if I’ve lost the ability to function not only as a person, but as a child of God. It’s this depression of the mind and soul. I thought I transcended this a year ago, but I suppose a little relapse is inevitable. But how guilty I feel. Where is my strength now? I drag my feet to pray, not because I feel reluctant to ask the Lord for help, but because I don’t want Him to see me this way. The outpourings of my heart are broken pieces of glass on the floor, and I sit among the worms. But the Lord is good, and loves the rebellious, neurotic daughter. He sits with me, already knowing my heart, and patiently waits for me to lift my head. And I do. He washes my feet, the floors, and brings the broken pieces together, like only He can. He helps me to slowly transcend again, and I rest in His goodness. He fills the emptiest, deepest parts of me and repairs the damaged fibers of my soul over and over again.
Wherefore He is able also to save them to the uttermost that come unto God by him, seeing He ever liveth to make intercession for them.
Hebrews 7:25 (KJV)