It’s all of me or nothing.
There is no point in going halfway. You cannot give part of yourself to the Lord.
While in the ministry home, last summer, I wrote notes to everyone. Strangers, new housemates, acquaintances… even notes to no one, left in a toilet paper roll, hoping it will find a reader.
One note in particular was to a gentleman upset that his preacher had stated that even just one sin will disqualify a person from his place in heaven. He seemed to disagree with this and it put a bit of worry upon him.
The note read something like this;
“In a comb factory, I imagine they have two bins for completed product. One bin is for perfect combs, ready to be sold to stores. The other bin would be for the trash combs that do not qualify as good product and require recycling.
Imagine now, that each choice in life, each thought and each action is a tooth on the comb of our lives. When we sin, it damages a tooth. In just one sin, we become a comb that is missing one tooth.
The inspector of combs, upon seeing this one missing tooth, would toss us in the recycling bin, to be melted and remade into a perfect comb.
There is no allowance for missing teeth. He does not say, “this one is only missing three,” then toss it into the good bin. He looks and sees imperfection and immediately orders an overhaul.”
This relates today, to me, in that, if I allow any imperfection to remain in my life, I allow myself to be counted as trash.
I keep bringing up humility. It’s because I’m learning that pride is the biggest, most tantalizing, destructive element in a lot of lives. It is the source of almost every sinful outcome.
When we give in to anger and lash out, it’s because we feel we deserve better, or aren’t respected correctly. Or didn’t get what we wanted. But I’ve learned to wonder, “who am I, that I should get what I want?” I am a broken comb. I deserve the trash bin.
Last weekend, I was able to drive, with my Bride, for a 14 hour day trip across three states. I’m not sure why she agreed to it, but I asked, and she said “Yes.” Then we went.
In the month ahead, before the trip, I prepared diligently, making schedules, doing research, planning a budget. I even wrote and recorded songs, hoping to prove to her my undying love. And the day of the trip was wonderful. Nothing went “smoothly” for the most part. Having the desire to cuddle and kiss and not the leniency to be able to is a difficult, difficult situation for me. But we saw a movie, we had ice cream. We ate sushi and laughed a whole lot.
I played her song, in an empty airport, on an out of tune piano. She liked it, I gathered, as she snatched the paper with the words off the piano when I finished. We embraced. We held hands on the way home.
The next day was much more difficult, but not without really wonderful blessings.
I was invited into her home, for the first time. We had Burger King.
Then my daughter spilled her entire cup, with red soda, onto the living room rug, just after I advised her to keep a hold of it.
…
…
I cry now. I cried when I left and I cried when I got home. I cried this morning.
My poor child began weeping, heavily. She was breathing heavily and apologizing profusely. She was scared to death as I sat on the couch seeing play out the fears that I had given her when I had lived with them.
My words, my actions… they might as well have been bullets. They were bullet wounds.
In the past, I would have freaked out. I would have yelled, and blamed, and cut down everything she was. I would have hurt her so badly, emotionally and spiritually. And upon further recollection, maybe even physically. The night would have been ruined. I would have snapped.
I had been 10 months removed from that person, as I sat on their couch, watching this loving, beautiful child fear for her life over a soda being spilled. I had, once again, seriously underestimated the damages of my past decisions.
I called my daughter over to me. She put her head in my lap and weeped. I weeped with her. Then her sister began weeping. And we sat crying together until she calmed down. Then we watched a movie, had candy, and they danced at the end.
In my heart, I was changed once more, further into a softer, loving Dad.
God showed me things on the way home, as I drove in complete silence, for two hours, praying and thinking on these events.
In Matthew 22, there is a story of a lady whose daughter needed healing. When she asks Jesus for help, He responds by, pretty much, calling her a dog.
“It is not good to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs,” He says after she asks Him for the miracle.
She responds in complete humility, “yes, but even the dogs get the scraps from the master’s table.”
She did not even get offended. She knew she was a sinner. That anything she asked for was more than she deserved.
A wave of humiliation has come over me. That living room couch was too much of a blessing for me. Holding my Bride’s hand is too much of a blessing for me.
I drove home bewildered, thanking God for the things He has provided for me. Driving in a free truck, I am sure I do not deserve, my life is amazing compared to the one I demanded in the first place. I am the reason Jesus’ life was full of turmoil and sadness. I cut His life short. I rejected Him and His love, for most of my life.
I am Paul. I am the worst of the sinners. I have no teeth in my comb, because I purposefully knocked them out with glee. I’ve instructed in sin. I’ve forced deception. And I’ve pumped emotional bullets into my family and friends. I’ve hurt a lot of people. And I thought I was justified in doing it.
I will gladly accept the scraps. And I’m not going to stop the extermination of sin in my life, to the point of running as often as I can to the Exterminator Himself.
On the way home, I told Him to gut me. Destroy who I think I should be. I don’t care how bad it hurts, I want my family safe and I want to be poured out for Jesus’ sake.
I DO love my Bride. I desire her in my life at almost all costs. I will do every bit of what it takes to be able to love her and feel her love in return.
But who am I to expect it, or to push for it, or to ever again be impatient?
“I am a worm, and not a man.”
It’s all of me or nothing. Take all of me Lord. Make me holy, like You are holy.
I remain repentant.
I am embarrassingly sorry and I will not hide it.
The journey to trustworthiness and humility is one strewn with hardships. But one so incredibly invaluable for living transformed and being a loving child of Yahweh.
Read again next week. God bless you and your family.
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From Death to Life 
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