Last night, before I got ready to go to church, I was watching a movie, and noticed my son’s little bowl sitting on top of the counter. It had been sitting there a while, now full of coins, useful in its own little way, and I realized I hadn’t taken a picture of it yet to show off to all my social media friends what a wonderful job he had done. So, I picked it up, walked outside with it so I could find some decent light, and snapped a picture with my cell phone.
I was at church this past Sunday night, and my pastor said something I’ve heard said a zillion other times, but never really let it sink in . . . Jesus died on that cross for you, and if it had been only for you, he would have still done it.
I’m not sure the reason, but it sat there with me this time, resonating in the silence of the building, only the pastor’s voice being heard. If it were only one of us, only me, or only you, he still would have taken that beating, that bloody, gruesome, painful death. For only one of us.
What kind of title is that? I know you must be wondering. So, here, I’m about to fill you in.
Have you ever done one of those spiritual gift tests? I have. Many times actually. Maybe just to see what I already knew, maybe just sheer curiosity to see if it was something different. But, the outcome, as I suspected, was always Mercy. My number one spiritual gift is mercy. And I do it well. I let it define me. I smile, I care about people, I cry when people are ugly or mean to other people. I try very hard to step up and help if I can. I genuinely love the human race and most of the people it. I am nice, like nice to a fault. I very rarely say no to anyone, I try to help when and where I can. I volunteer for things, kids and animals flock to me like the modern day pied piper or Snow White. You get it, I’m just a generally nice person. And, I like it.
This morning was a morning of Unsatisfactory Everything for me. The kids wouldn’t get up and get going, nobody could find the shoes I wanted for one of the babies, cars couldn’t seem to pull out into traffic at a reasonable rate (hello road rage), I called my husband to talk things out, looking for a little redemption or maybe just some comfort and he seemed too busy to talk to me . . . On and on and on it seemed to go. I felt that anxious struggle for breath I feel when the world seems to be weighing in a little extra heavily as it sometimes does. So, I breathe and turn the radio up—drown out my worries for my last few minutes of alone time before I get to work and start on today’s newest projects.