Not a mite

At the Flushing Chinese church I attended yesterday, there were some special needs children in attendance. These precious children were tended to as they fidgeted, uttered sounds, and stared off during the worship service.

O LORD! How wonderful a depiction you’ve given us of our helpless estate - at every moment. Not a mite of my own doing, my own efforts, have added to the blessing of knowing you. Nay, it was me that constantly hesitated to run to you, made sharp complaint, or looked to lesser rust-friendly pleasures. I was especially handicapped (read: dead), and so only your extravagant love has buttressed our relationship. You embraced me when I fought back, my rebellion putting you on that cross. You interceded amidst my shout to “crucify him," groaning on my behalf as I pierced you. As I looked to free Barabbas, you looked to the joy set before you in expectation of bringing me into your kingdom. It’s all so one-sided.

Had two communions yesterday. Emotionally wrecked during both.