The miserable weight of my sin.

Today, I learned that humility tastes like the crumbs of bread my belly aches for.

At Wal-Mart, the woman at the register next to me whispered her need for the attendant to come over, but I could clearly see the attendant swaying to the beat inside her own bubble. So I re-directed the attendant over to the woman who then whispered a small “thank you” at me. It was the best thing I’ve done in a long time. I don’t mean to make it seem like I’m typically cutting people off in traffic or keying their cars. I just mean there was no personal gain in it or a need to file it in the “ministry” folder.

It just was.

I’ve been angry with myself. I’ve turned into a passionate talking head with no real direction. I’ve stopped that. I’ve stepped down from my obnoxious platform. I still have my beliefs and my faith in Jesus. But I’m tired of building a wall of “ministry” that separates me from others. Because isn’t that the exact opposite of what ministry is?

Jesus said religion was taking care of the orphans and widows. And even though it’s also knowing and understanding His Word, that knowledge and undertanding is a humble journey and quiet reflection.

It’s not the loud clanging gong of reasoning between my ears.

I’ve failed. But I’m getting back up, dusting off my jeans. I want to write for Him but maybe that looks different than I thought. Maybe that’s making people smile or making them think but never leading them away from the small, foundational truths that keep us in community with Him.

Maybe I need to loosen these fingers of mine and let go of the miserable weight of my sin.

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