Until He is my favorite
thought upon waking, and my favorite thought before sleep.
Until He is the pursuit of my
quiet moments.
Until I see sacrifice as the
noblest choice.
Until the faults of others
become the platform for more grace and lavish mercy, not a salve for my self-righteousness
or kindle for my judgment.
Until I can react to the
faults of others like Christ responded to mine.
Until my heart cracks clean
wide with joy when those around me advance His kingdom more than I can. When
what is in their hand is praised and magnified for His name’s sake.
Until I am happiest playing
the servant. Happiest in the shadows. Happiest keeping my most lavish devotion
my deepest secret.
Until “What is He doing here”
is my thought on entering a room, not “how will others perceive what I am doing
here.”
Until the squeezing, brazen
sin of unbelievers works a sorrow and compassion so strong within me that only
the Gospel comes out.
Until with forgetful abandon,
I can fling behind me my greatest accomplishments for Christ, and press forward
toward the mark, unencumbered with what I have done.
Until He is my favorite
story.
Until the sweetness of some
remembered word of His is enough.
Until I learn that loss, and pain,
and hard are holy places, and the mundane of life makes for the finest altars.
Until I learn that Gesthemane
and Golgatha may lead to an empty tomb and an upper room.
He must increase.
Until Christ be formed in me.
Beth
