there is grace enough.

o happiness, there is grace enough for us & the whole human race.

I confess that one the reasons I’ve always pushed away the thought of missions, of evangelism, of outreach is that I know how broken I am.

I am acutely aware of the fact that I am a mess. Some days my heart feels like it’s held together with Scotch tape. All the broken pieces taped together like a third-grader’s art project, cracks snaking their way around the entirety of the thing, threatening to shatter into a million shards if you hold it the wrong way.

I doubt. I fear. I worry. I run away from the Lord when I need Him most, put on a brave face so no one will notice the messy heart. Some days I question every single thing I know, including basics that I had covered by the time I was five. Jesus loves me, this I know.

Some days I don’t know.

How am I supposed to tell people about Jesus when I don’t even know who He is, really? I’ve only seen glimpses of Him. It’s like when you’re working on a puzzle and missing one piece, except I’ve only got the one puzzle piece out of the thousand that make up the picture. I don’t know where that piece fits, what the picture makes, and I’m frantically searching the floor for the other thousand pieces in an attempt to make some sense of the blur of colors on my one piece.

I am in need of healing, of faith, of hope.

How on earth am I supposed to be God’s light to the world when I can barely see His light sometimes? How am I supposed to bring His healing, His hope, His love when I need them so desperately for myself?

I’m selfish, I’m proud. My love is flawed. There is little in me that points to God. I’m not good with words; I can’t talk about my faith, my journey, my love for the Lord without lots of tangents and hand gestures and “I don’t know”s. What good am I? Of what use can I be to Him?

These were the thoughts on repeat in my head the other night during a run, words looping circles in my mind as I pounded circles around the track. Lord, what good am I? What can I do?

let’s risk the ocean, there’s only grace.

The words slid into my brain and stopped my thoughts in their tracks. Only grace. Risk the ocean; there is only grace.

Grace to cover my sins, grace to cover my brokenness. Grace enough to make me clean and whole again, grace that is strong enough to take me and make me new and present me as spotless before the throne of God. Grace to heal my heart, grace to forgive all I’ve ever done and ever will do.

That grace is big enough to use me. That grace is big enough to let people see through me to God, to put His words in my mouth and His love in my heart.

My love may be flawed, my words may be a jumble. My heart is taped together but God holds it in His hands, and by grace it is becoming new. By grace, He is putting His treasure in this jar of clay. By grace, He can use my hands and my heart and my words, He can use my life.

I’m risking the ocean. I’m taking all I have, all I hold onto, and letting it go. Plunging in. There’s only grace.

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