I love it because it reminds me of my brokenness.
I love it because it humbles me, exactly in the place where there used to be pride that I couldn’t even see!
I love it because it invites me back into the repentance (turning away from self & turning toward God) rhythms that are absolute necessity for my life with God.
I love it because it jolts me out of going through the motions of church.
I love it because it reminds me that I’m not alone – pre-church fights are as common in families as stubbed toes and dirty dishes.
I love it because it makes the prayers, the songs, the words of church sink more deeply into my heart.
I love it because usually I have to say, “I’m sorry” to one or all of my kids, and if anything is good for the soul in the way of Jesus, it is that.
I love it because I feel God’s grace when I arrive at the building and my pastor, my friends, my community are still glad to see me.
I love it because it makes me laugh, albeit self-deprecatingly, at how put-together we all look on the outside while on the inside there is much more putting-together for Jesus to do.
I love it because it reminds me that I’m no spiritual hero of the faith – I am always, still, mostly just a spiritual child of God.
But wait. Actually, maybe I am a spiritual hero after all. Family fights that end with repentance and reconciled relationship? That sounds like exactly the stuff of spiritual heroes.
I love it because it gives me something real, something fresh, something with the blood still throbbing in it to share with God during church ‘confession time,’ rather than the vain searching of a sterile heart.
I love it because it keeps me from forgetting the truest thing about me: I need Jesus. Desperately.
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