This Easter week I’ve pondered how much simpler and fuller my life would be if I focused less on me and more on Him.
I stopped to shop for a new Easter dress for myself, then remembered I’m two days behind on my seven day Bible plan, which covers the final chapters of each of the four gospels. Last year I spent the weeks leading up to Easter re-reading all of the gospels (if you want to feel more intimately connected to Jesus Christ, I highly recommend it; although I’m always aware of his wisdom, I was reminded of his wit and his humanity) and this year I seem to be too busy to keep up with two chapters a day for one week.
I cut my shopping trip short, aware that I need to worry more about my head and my heart than my clothes.
I saw a man with a sign that read Homeless Veteran. I looked in his eyes as I passed and it felt like he saw inside my priority-twisted soul. If he wanted to attract attention, he didn’t pick the best spot to lay his bucket and his pack. I couldn’t shake the thought that he wasn’t supposed to be seen by all, only those who passed down this lane, those like me who needed to wake up and see him—see Him. Always less of me, more of Him.
Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?
When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?
Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?
And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.
I drove back later and asked if he needed something to eat. “No,” he replied, pointing to a plastic bag hung on the fence to keep away ants. I handed him some cash, it felt like so little, and he looked into my eyes and simply said, “Happy Easter” with more feeling than I’m likely to hear or speak this weekend.
Last week I attended Photoshop World here in Atlanta and honestly, I was a little lonely. Thankfully my husband drove in and spent the first night with me and attended two classes the next day, but I spent most of the three-day conference on my own.
Almost every time the thought entered my head, I felt the response—you are not alone—as clearly as if it were spoken.
I want my faith to be more than a bandaid for the hurts. If I only hit my knees when there’s nowhere left to go, I miss the joys of sweet fellowship day by day, surrounded by His presence, my ever-faithful constant friend.
Lord, help me focus less on my needs and more on others’; grant me both the opportunity and willingness to be your hands and feet; let me feel your presence. I pray for revival in our country, for men and women willing to uphold your word, unashamed and unhindered by the political correctness that stifles conversation and breeds confusion.
Make me more like you: less judgmental, more merciful.
Give me hope, for without it I am lost.
Less of me, more of Him.
