Something happens in my stomach when I consider the ministry of the Lord. Its difficult to describe but I liken it to a churning, gut-deep, kneading like bread in the pit of my belly. You know when you are in an all out, sobbing-out-loud cry, and as you release that sob from your breath and in doing so, you feel it in your core. This sounds so dramatic, but this is what I feel when I consider the lost in this world. Whether it be in regards to nations so poverty-stricken that many of us would not even consider staying a night in their richest homes, or when I think about the Americanized Christianity that thinks themselves saved and thinks themselves to know the Lord and are grossly missing the mark. To paint an accurate picture, I'm not huddled in the corner of my closet in the fetal position with puddles of tears and puffy red eyes, literally. But I dare say my heart feels that way. I've never understood the cultural act during Biblical times of shaving ones' head and tearing ones' clothes and covering ones' self in ashes out of angst and mourning, but I feel as though my heart understands it, even if my head can't wrap around it. To know Jesus Christ, and Him glorified. There is NO other joy than this. There is NO other fulfillment of the hole in our souls than this. And to know there is anyone who walks this life without that fulfillment shatters my heart.
How then shall I live?
In the church sermon yesterday, the guest speaker singled me out and pierced me with these words "We are not doing right." Amen! Yes, Lord! Have I not said as such! My heart cried out in wild agreement and then he drove the spear deeper and listed WHO is not doing it right, and WHO there is a purpose in God's mission for. Among them, he lists "housewife." Ouch, Lord.
But, How then shall I live?
What am I to do?
Feeling this burden is right, but I just don't know what to do with it.
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