I love Max Lucado’s writings. They’re so full of love and grace and acceptance and encouragement and… the list of beautiful adjectives that would fit here is endless. Reading those texts just makes me feel like I’m melting in all the love. Today’s devotional is one of the startlingly merciful ones.
“If God can tolerate my mistakes, can’t I tolerate the mistakes of others? If God can overlook my errors, can’t I overlook the errors of others? If God allows me with my foibles and failures to call him Father, shouldn’t I extend that same grace to others?”
The thing is, my problem is not being merciful to others. I find it very hard, if not impossible, being merciful to myself! All fiery passages of the Bible hit home hard and precisely, but with the positive ones I find myself doubting every time: Oh, no, that was said to Israeli people. I’m Finnish! Or: Nah, thatäs for Timothy, or John, or Paul… It never says “Thomasina”.
And while I may succeed in something (like believing Jesus is the Son of God), failing any one of the what-to-do’s or how-to-be’s, mean in my world that I’m a lost case with no hope at all. Thus I hardly dare calling myself a Christian. And I think that’s even one of the reasons I find it so very hard to write my name with a capital letter.
I’ll probably write another post about this at some point.