Dead to self, but alive to Christ....
The problems I have seem to stem from this: I love myself. I am so in love with myself that I throw the benefits that I can bring to other people to the depths and ramble on about how I have been wronged; how I have been trampled on. Incessant nonsense pours from my lips and spills over into action. I think to myself, "OK, good, I have a time to sit down. Just a little sleep, just a little slumber, just a little folding of the hands to rest. Try to catch me idleness. You'll not consume me." So I tempt him, and he snatches me in a moment. And soon, that moment defines me and my defiance is swallowed up in horrid acquiescence to the dance I perform for him. But it is just not idleness that sings his sweet tune. No, I can be so busy for me. So busy performing for me that I couch it in spiritual terms and wonder why no one else sees it quite like I do.
Yes, Christ died for me so that I may live. Life is found in death and that death is a dying to me that goes beyond these words. A separation of my desires from the work of my hands until my desires are His. Where is my selfishness? At times it hides itself deep in the motives of the service I perform on the behalf of others. Often I open the door wide and invite it in.
So sweet for a season, so deadly when it blooms its awful flower in my heart. For when the flower blooms there lay the instrument for its reproduction. Beware. As I shake hands with you and sing praises to Him - beware. Lest the pollen of self infatuate you.
Yes, Christ died for me so that I may live. Life is found in death and that death is a dying to me that goes beyond these words. A separation of my desires from the work of my hands until my desires are His. Where is my selfishness? At times it hides itself deep in the motives of the service I perform on the behalf of others. Often I open the door wide and invite it in.
So sweet for a season, so deadly when it blooms its awful flower in my heart. For when the flower blooms there lay the instrument for its reproduction. Beware. As I shake hands with you and sing praises to Him - beware. Lest the pollen of self infatuate you.
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