Peace is a Decision

I just want to encourage you. Sometimes peace is a decision. It is choosing to go past the whirlwind of emotions and circumstances into the eye of the storm, the faith that Christ is the Captain and He can calm any storm, should he so choose; and when He does not calm the storm, it is with perfect providence. With the power of the storm, God changes me. I am whipped, drenched, bludgeoned, and shattered into the image of Christ. There was no 'comeliness' to Him, it says in the King James--nothing in him to make people say, what a nice looking guy, or what a real man's man, or what a king. They didn't like Him. He wasn't what they were looking for--but is He really what we're looking for? Do we see him for who He is and what that means? When He saw he was made in the image of a man, he humbled himself and took the form of a servant. Who wants a God who spits in the mud and wipes it on people? Who wants a God who cries? Who wants a God who hangs out with losers? Who wants a God so weak he would die at the hands of his own creation?

I do. I want a God who tosses children in the air and catches them. I want a God that has a thing for lost causes. I want a God who gives his followers nick-names like "Sons of Thunder;" Who cries at funerals, even when he knows the guy ain't gonna be dead long. I want a God so confident, so aware of His position, that humbling Himself doesn't phase Him; who strips down to the waist, rolls up his sleeves, and takes calloused, blistered, hot, sweaty, odorous feet in his hands and in gentleness, blesses the men who own those feet with a massage. I want a God who smells the stench of my immorality and sees the revolting selfishness that is eating me alive and rather than putting me out of my misery and just beginning hell a few years ahead of schedule...*sigh*. I couldn't have thought it up. Not in a million years spent doing nothing but trying to think up a way to save the world...

Who wants a girl who can't keep her shoes tied? Who wants a girl who doesn't like standing in the foyer at church because she doesn't feel like she belongs? Who wants a girl whose ability to sing is lessening exponentially by the day? Who wants a girl who wins burping contests so regularly nobody even tries to compete with her anymore? Who wants a girl who would rather you be intimidated by her silence than to let you see how fearful she is of being found out for a fraud? Who wants a ragamuffin?

He does. and that makes all the difference. Be encouraged.

Though the angry surges roll on my tempest-driven soul,

I am peaceful, for I know, wildly though the winds may blow,

I've an anchor safe and sure, that can evermore endure.

Mighty tides about me sweep, perils lurk within the deep,

Angry clouds o'ershade the sky, and the tempest rises high;

Still I stand the tempest's shock, for my anchor grips the Rock.

I can feel the anchor fast as I meet each sudden blast,

And the cable, though unseen, bears the heavy strain between;

Through the storm I safely ride, till the turning of the tide.

Troubles almost 'whelm the soul; griefs like billows o'er me roll;

Tempters seek to lure astray; obscure the light of day:

But in Christ I can be bold, I've an anchor that shall hold.

And it holds, my anchor holds;

Blow your wildest, then, O gale,

On my bark so small and frail;

By His grace I shall not fail,

For my anchor holds,

my anchor holds.

(W. C. Martin)