I commute to work every day. It takes me over an hour to get to my parking spot (labeled with another name because I’m too cheap to pay the $15 to have it re-painted). I drive what I lovingly call the Itty-Bitty-Cheap-Car. It’s 14 years old, has hand-crank windows, a cassette player and gets 35 miles per gallon. What more could I ask for? It’s taken me the better part of this year to figure out that though I can’t listen to books on CD (no CD player) I can get my Kindle to read to me. It has this automated female voice that puts the inflection in all the wrong places and pronounces wound, as in she wound up the cord, like wound, as in the wound in his side. It’s endearing, really. I’d like to thank this little computer voice, likely based of some flesh and blood woman somewhere, for keeping me company all these miles.
I listen to a little bit of everything-mainly the free things, out of the Kindle library. Or at least those things that don’t cost more than a couple bucks. In other words, my personal Kindle library is full of Indy authors and first time books. It’s kind of fun getting to know these new authors. And I’ve listened to a lot of Jesus books. I’ve never read Jesus books all that much, except for when I was a kid and my mom worked at a Christian Book Store (I thought for sure I should have been born in another century when I read all the Sadie Rose books). But in my car, I like listening to how he manifests himself through the fictional writing and lives of characters in my little automated device.
The stories have challenged me, and challenged my faith. Stretched and pulled me to expand beyond where I am and see where I want to go. I have learned parenting tips and survival tips (sometimes they are the same thing). But one thing that I love most about listening to my little friend’s voice is the way she says the name of Jesus. It is almost reverent. A break between the syllables as if the sanctity of the name alone is too much to get out in one breath. And I wonder, do I think of him like this?
Does the name of my savior cause my heart to quiver and the glory of his grace flood through my veins? It makes me beg the question: what am I doing in my own life to show this glory, his glory.
The book I finished today was called The Warrior. One of the main characters was a woman of faith. She prayed like nobody’s business. And on the sidelines, she lived his story. She served. She loved. She put others above herself. And the funny thing is that she wasn’t even the story’s highlight, not until the end when all her works were shown. And it was such a reminder to me of what we are called to do.
We are called to be warriors. We are called to let his light shine through us and his grace be felt by those around us. We are meant to feel the sanctity of his name. To let it fill our mouths as we speak like sweet honey from the hive-full and rich and more than we can bear. We have gotten so far from this truth as a church, as a body. We fill our Sunday slot with an hour service and sing the hymns in the pew, only to lead our Monday life as soon as we exit the sanctuary.
I am no different. I cannot recall the last time I went to church-for a multitude of reasons, but none with an excuses that absolves me. I find communion in his creation, yes, but we are meant to fellowship with each other-drawing from each other strength in community.
And I seek that community. Even though I have been hurt by the Church. Wounded by the fact that we are all just human and searching for his grace. I long for redemption. I long for the simplistic faith of a child. And I roam this desert of a land and grow weary in my soul until I am reminded, by the small voice of an automated reader, that there is something sacred in even the name of the father.
Let his name roll through your heart.
Let his name fill your spirit.
Let his name flood you with peace.
Let his name be reverent on your tongue.
Let us find grace in the sanctity of his name.
Linking up with Lisha Epperson today for #GiveMeGrace