I was on the phone with my husband today, processing what’s been going on in my heart, lately. The not-pretty stuff.
I just want someone to rescue me from all of this. I don’t want to have to keep doing it and going through it. I know you can’t rescue me from it all. Only Jesus can do that. I’m not expecting you to be Jesus.
But, oh, how I was wishing that he could. How tempted I was to go running down a well-worn old path. How resentful I felt that I knew where it would take me.
The trouble is, for many years, I was expecting my life-partner to be Jesus. Not like Jesus but my actual Jesus. My savior. The one to rescue me from whatever pit I was in at the moment.
The trouble is, for many years, he tried to be my Jesus. Not like Jesus but actual Jesus. My savior. The one to rescue me from whatever pit I was in at the moment.
It didn’t work. It was a set-up and recipe for disaster. For him by me. For me by him. Mutual functional idolatry.
It’s worse when you don’t realize the chaos that is being created in the name of Jesus. Until it’s too late.
Taking God’s name in vain isn’t just an utterance under the breath.
Waiting for rescue by the only One who can…the lover of our souls.