I love superhero stories because I wish I was one.
I’d love to believe that underneath what everybody sees, there is something truly spectacular. That I had the power to save them. Or at least the power to help. — But I don’t have that power. And I’m not a hero. I’m a man.
The same man who occasionally knows just what to say or just how to act is the same guy who can lose his temper and act selfishly. The same guy who you can trust to love you and who you can depend on for support is the same man who can misunderstand you and speak with absolutely ridiculous ignorance. The same person who walks in and by faith and exhibits a sincere passion for God and Christ is the same person who will embarass his testimony and abuse his grace.
The good is as much within me as the bad. And the faults are as abundant as the merits. They are all a part of who I am. There are times in my life when I am at peace with who I am and what I’ve done. There are other times when there are things I simply wish weren’t there. And I wrestle with the guilt and I reach out for the love and I hope for the mercy.
But tonight, I ask a question. –
I have seen how naked I am. My eyes were opened and I’m ashamed. I’ve hidden in the bushes because I didn’t know what else to do. I retreat there with the snake when faced with the parts of me I’m embarassed by.
But my question is this . . . when God made this world — when He made me — and called it all “good,” . . . was I not naked then?
Just askin’.
