Restoration

I will always find it amazing, maybe I shouldn't but I do, that God heals me. What on earth is He doing? Why would someone as holy and righteous as He is cure me of even the simplest of sickness only to have me continue in my seemingly endless transgression? Why doesn't He just leave me and allow me to be consumed by my symptoms? Or why doesn't He make it so unbearable that all I can think about is the pain rather than how I can pretend He doesn't see my puny fist as I shake it in His face...again?

He knows I am formed from the ground, yet He refuses to treat me as such. Why not discard me, Lord, and raise up a man that will be a better husband, father, brother, son, servant...more dependent on you and more inclined to do your will? I can't fathom that He regarded my condition, still not as bad as it should have been, and sought to heal me. Somehow He found it good to heal me. Somehow He finds me usable and still worth molding into the image of His dear Son. Thank you that I can be counted one of His, Dad.

There is nothing in me that will presume that the next malady I face will be the one that will release the safety valve of death. And there is nothing within me to expect Him to treat me any differently than He already has. For even in my death I will see Him. Dust shouldn't have an audience with the King.

But I will have one and so much more than that.