I don’t wake up full of vision and motivation. Actually, what motivates me most is the idea that my french press and single-origin coffee from Guatemala are just minutes away from awaking my senses with it’s warm, toasty aroma. And on those days when I get my stiff, puffy-eyed body out of bed and make my way to the cabinet to prep the press with my favorite coffee and find we’re out, I feel great motivation to get dressed and drive to the local store so I can hurry up and get back home before too much time has passed and get my coffee going.
Basically, coffee motivates me to get up in the morning.
Mixed in the grogginess between eyes open and that first cup of coffee I remember who I am.
I am not my own. I am a Christian. The weight of meaning in that word falls on me like gravity on the fledgling attempts of a young eagle to fly every morning.
I feel myself falling. Falling. Squawking out a cry, “Help! Help Lord! I am yours. Let me hear your loving kindness in the morning lest I be like those who go down to the pit!” Sometimes sooner, sometimes later, but never failing, my faithful Helper and Friend, my God, my Father, the one who made me a Christian and bought me out of slavery to the law of sin and death, he swoops down and lifts me up on his everlasting wings.
He’s teaching me to fly. To soar on wings like eagles. To walk and not grow weary. To run the race set before me as a woman finding her identity in Christ, as wife to James in a difficult marriage, as a mother raising men, in a community and time full of the “treasures of Egypt“. And when he finally lifts me up I see the wonder of who He is and what He’s done and what He’s doing in me, I can face the day.
I don’t always get a chance to reflect on the truth of what God has done in calling me his own daughter like today. Usually the day marches on and I struggle to fix my eyes on the One who wrote this story. He’s the author of my faith, and since he is, he’s also the one who will finish the story he started in me. He’s not an inconsistent blogger or an aspiring writer. He’s the author of life, and the writer of faith, and the one who began this good work in me. And he will be faithful to complete it.
Every morning the struggle is real. And that’s no cliche. I need to get my eyes on Jesus every morning and remember who I am, and the promise that He who began this good work in me will be faithful to complete it. I need to remember that God gave me life in Christ and I am destined to be with him forever. I need to remember because I’m called to die daily. I’m called to follow Jesus in taking up my cross daily. I’m not here for my best life now. My life is not all about me and getting all the pleasure and comfort and ease I can squeeze out of the day and people in my world. I’m a Christian, my best life is already and not yet. I taste it here in every little resurrection, when I deny bitterness and embrace forgivenesss, when I deny ease and choose serving, when I feel the sorrow and the pain of my own sin and others’ sins and rejoice in the promise that the One I love, who I have never seen, He will make all things new.
If I could just get my eyes on the Author today I’ll be OK.
“…let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith,” – Hebrews 12:1-2