This road I travel. Week after week. Mile after mile.
The bridge that links our town to the next... Where our church exists, where our community is.
Yet the drive has become far more than my foot pushing the pedal and staying the line.
At the bend, not one, but two signs glare against the East Texas sky, marring the beauty of the ribbon that lays before me.
Simple. And so gut-wrenchingly complex.
XXX.
Two. As though one were not enough to contain enough darkness to soothe the soul that trucks by.
Realizing this would be the path I would take over and over, I have asked the Lord over and over to strike them down. To render them useless. To heal the brokenness that exists within the walls. To have beauty come from ashes.
One night... One is unlit. No lights within. The darkness had fully take it over, yet it was a victorious darkness. No more business, no more lostness except innocence.
The other, I still pass. Asking the Lord what I might do besides plead with him.
He answered, but unexpectedly so.
A man, hauling out the trash. Pressed slacks, ironed button up. The keeper.
Does he know Jesus? Has he ever heard the gospel? Oh, how beautiful the feet of those who bring good news!
And to bring the good news to him would take entering in. Lowering. To cross the threshold that so deeply divides my world from his. To literally put myself in the middle of black-hearted filth so that he might hear of a glorious light.
I wrestle with this. Could I? Should I? But if not I, who?
And the Lord whispers... Jesus.
To bring the glorious light, he left the heavenly for the dastardly.
Not only for me, but for him.
Jesus entered my world. Saw my hardened heart. Knew my wicked thoughts.
How can I not, knowing what all he has done for me?
