As human beings, we want to be heard, noticed and affirmed. We want to know that we matter. There are multiple opportunities throughout the day to connect with strangers in a way that says, “I understand.” without using words.
At times I am blind to those right in front me… within arms reach. When I begin to view myself through the distorted lens of my ego, I will quickly think myself “better than.” I must thoroughly and swiftly diffuse this misconception.
When I come to the end of myself is when my eyes are opened and I can readily relate to the pain of another. “God, open my eyes to see what you see.”
By asking God to direct my thinking, the simple, seemingly mundane, happenings throughout the day take on new form. Instead of judgement, I can see myself…
~ In the eyes of the elderly lady in the check out line trying to separate her coupons one by one with shaking hands, as the line behind her grows longer and the faces appear more agitated while the exaggerated sighs confirm disapproval.
~ In the little boy on the corner awkwardly waiting alone for his bus.
~ In the driver with aggravated hands in the air and a marred expression on her face, showing her disdain for the fact that the person in front of her is turning left when she needs to go straight.
~ In the expression of the little girl, just scolded by her mother, with tears running down her cheeks.
~ In the suit walking across the street falsely exuding the confidence that he so desperately wishes he had.
~ In the cashier at the deli with diamond earrings too big to be real, red fingernails and enough makeup to think she’s hiding how desperately she wants someone to see her for who she really is.
~ In the lady pumping $4.39 worth of gas into her car, praying that it’s enough to last at least a couple of days.
Throughout my day, I am capable of relating, encouraging and projecting light onto others. Isn’t that what God called me to do as a follower of Christ? After all, it wasn’t that long ago when I was the one sending silent screams of desperation to anyone who would notice.
I assess my day on the drive home. What could I have done better? Where could I have chosen compassion? How will I live tomorrow differently?
On this particular day, my heart is heavy and my thoughts are many. I pull into the garage, walk into the house, slip my shoes off at the door and head up the stairs.
There it is.
I pick it up and run my finger along the intricate work in the beautiful silver adorning the wood. I can remember when I saved enough money to buy this cross. I had been eyeing it for weeks.
Today, I see myself in it as well.
This cross was bought with a price. I cherish it. It is strategically placed in a part of our room where I see it multiple times a day. A visual reminder of the beautiful gift that Christ gave, in giving His life for mine all those years ago and then saving me again not so very long ago.
It all comes back to the cross.
As I rest the beautiful symbol back in it’s place, I smile, exhale, and bask in the eternal security of the ultimate sacrifice of my Savior. His crucifixion on a cross (made from a tree that His Father created), stained with His blood (that sanctifies my sin), displaying His body (naked and vulnerable), beaten beyond recognition… for me… and for all of those I see throughout the day, coming and going.
We were all bought with a price, much too high for my earthly mind to comprehend. Imagine the possibilities if we were able to fully absorb and then exemplify to others the meaning of the cross.
It changes everything.
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