What it's not

Not just pretty pictures.  Grace.
Or happy moments.

Because.

What we call beautiful.

Is really
that indescribable something

of which for a moment
become the messengers.

Pointing.

Suggests CS Lewis.

To something beyond what transfixes. 
Temporarily.

Beauty smiles.
But grace transforms.

And it is not about pretty pictures.
And words on a page.

It is about the twenty-four/seven living.
In this fallen world we call home.
The ugly stuff and the breaking stuff.

Because.
There is not a scholar anywhere.
In any field.
Who, being honest.
Cannot help but say
there is something seriously broken.
This life.

And the messengers pointing.

To the stuff beyond a church building.

God redeeming.

In the reality of this hurting world.
The fleeing of genocide. Rwanda.
And the life lived in orphanages.
And the hungry in slums.  All over.
Crying out for help. 

And here in this country.
The same because.
Brokenness written all over our lives.
And we live desperate.

Sometimes for food. 
Or shelter.  Or Safety.
And sometimes for love. 
And acceptance.

And here's where grace comes in.

It is available.
In this broken place.
Full of beauty fleeting.  Pointing.

To Redeemer God.

And relationship with Him.
When and where.
He covers our broken with Himself.
And fills our lives with HIs love.
Undeserved.

And in receiving.

Offering to others.

This grace.

Choosing to help.
And to love and forgive.
Hard stuff.
This.
When we would rather not look.
Or see.  Or give grace.
Inconvenient often.

And to those around the world.
Suffering so greatly.
Not leaving it to others.

It's not about a church building.
Or a pretty picture.
Or words on a page.

Lunacy

Just because this blog is called scribbling beautiful grace.
Doesn't mean I always do it.

Yes.  To the scribbling.

But so often no.
To the grace.

I am a recipient gladly.

Of Grace.
Undeserved favor.  Unfathomable love.
From God.

A word costing so much.
But so often.
Taken so lightly.

Because I think I know best.
How the days should look.
The running of things.  What I want.
And what He should do.

What about that?

When there's not enough to suit me.
Disappointment running hard and deep.
The constant striving. 
To make the happy.

The un-worship of it all crashing down.
Unsettling.  Confusing. 
The whys bumping into each other.
On a daily basis.

But then.

The God-That-Is
getting my attention.
Again.
And not letting go.

And me.
Having to realign my picture.
Of God.  Of Grace.
 
Unraveling the illusions and the subtle lies.
The putting myself at the center of happy.
And the good life. 

Because a relationship.
This grace thing.  And He.
Full of glory.
Redefining happy.

I am finding sometimes in the pain.
When our lack outweighs the lies.
The pages turn.
And we see. Really see.
 
This Giver of Grace. 

Worthy of worship.
And trust.
 
All the time.

In my search.
C.S. Lewis reminding me.

Do I really think
he could be the grandfather
of the universe,
who, when the day is done,
says,
'A good time was had by all'?

Is such a thing even possible on any level?
If we stop to think about it.
The ramifications of such a system.

Would we even want this for our children?
For ourselves?
A benevolent despot.  A grandfather figure.

Or One.

Whose divine goodness
and purposes go far beyond our imaginings?

Who suffered the most
to give me Grace.

All the time.

In my lack.  In my need.
In the deep dark of the night.
When I am scribbling darkness
without even realizing it.
Having to catch myself.  Redirect.

C.S. Lewis says it best.

"A man can no more
diminish God's glory
by refusing to worship Him
 
than a lunatic
can put out the sun

by scribbling

the word 'darkness'

on the walls
of his cell."

Well.
What about that?

God's glory surrounding and I scribble darkness.

The un-worship.
Lunacy.