It’s the Christmas season. In my head, voices vie to be heard. Give. Leave your stupid comfort zone. Invest in someone hurting. Make a difference. Where’s the fruit? Quit being so lazy. You may think by the time you’re old that you’ll be this lovely, gracious, Spirit-led woman, an example to the young women of pious, godly humility–but if you don’t start owning the privilege and onus of surrender here pretty soon, you’re gonna leave this earth a sarcastic, barely mediocre, sniveling old wretch, and what kind of legacy is THAT?
Today a baby will drown in a bathtub. A young black mother will die of AIDS. A father will get butchered by terrorists. A young man will get kidnapped by rebels. A young girl will get sold into prostitution. A Chinese Christian will be bodily torn apart. A teenager will commit suicide because of bullying.
And here I am, sitting on my bed, typing on a laptop, croissants waiting in the kitchen to be filled for our ham & egg breakfast. I feel like I’m supposed to be part of the answer. But I am more of the same, same problem. And I don’t know when that will change.
