PEOPLE ARE LETTERS

I don't think I will ever learn.  I am not king of my court.  I am not Sheriff of my county.  I am not Pope of a non-Catholic church.  I am a rescu-ee pitied and loved by God.

Jesus was beaten beyond human recognition; not just because of the way I was, but because of the way I am.  God got me but I don't seem to get it.  I know all of the church academics....sorta.  But my ego rares in stupid assumption I have arrived....sorta.

Last night I hung around the building as one of our AA groups began to filter in.  I marvel.  Everyone speaks to everyone....all 60 or so.  They look like ideal church assembly.  They speak in courtesyistic love toward one another and praise God for His goodness.

These are broken people.  One young gal was smoking an ink pen...sorta.  She had abandoned cigarettes the day before.  I commented to her about her new kind of cigarette.  She's working at it.

I took two Cardinal fans to show them my office and gave each a book.  They were (of course) wowed because my office is the most amazing preacher's office in the world (and if you know a better one don't tell me about it).  It formed an instant connection.

In visiting with one who looked so familiar, Rick said, Hey, I've visited your church twice recently.  Man it really does something for me.  It's really good.

I left the gathering so inspired.  The humility within the group makes me grateful I can see such goodness in brokenness.  Everyone spoke to me.  Everyone included me.  And I tend to go through life so smug in comparison.  It is unintentional.  So last night I went to class and learned that people really do read lessons from others in the room.

You are a letter written not with ink, but with the Spirit of the living God.  Let all who study your context walk away with a warming message.