Comments on: Sticking feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken. http://www.ericgmorgan.com/2007/07/18/sticking-feathers-up-your-butt-does-not-make-you-a-chicken/ Christ, Culture, City, Church Tue, 06 Jan 2009 13:57:43 +0000 http://wordpress.org/?v=2.7 hourly 1 By: Eugene Allister Banks http://www.ericgmorgan.com/2007/07/18/sticking-feathers-up-your-butt-does-not-make-you-a-chicken/comment-page-1/#comment-39 Eugene Allister Banks Sun, 25 Nov 2007 21:12:41 +0000 http://www.ericgmorgan.com/?p=129#comment-39 If ever there were anything that bled me each day, it's the necessary ... the required, and expected. Echoing the Solomon cantata: "All is vain!" is presently evidenced in the numerous 'Complaint Choirs' coming of age in many countries. Gorgeous choral work, but every word a gripe and whine, in concert. What anchors me, and keeps me standing midstream in the torrents of our Sin Sewer, is looking up. He places me where my weakness floats quickly to the surface. He reveals whether I'm willing to immediately rush to Him or wallow around until I am so covered in daily shit, I am forced to cry out. It'd be much simpler if at the outset my natural inclination and love is both arms thrust upward for help. Isn't that what a child does ... with their smallest scrape? What happened to me? Where I am now, is His way of grinding out of me my self determination to do everything without Him. Wait over there on the sidelines until I am worn out, flat on my back and pulverized ... and THEN sub for me. I can handle it, and someday I might ask You to help me ... with the big jobs. He is NOT going to put me in His service as 'the one offering hope and evidence of a better way' until my submission is fact. Until I say this day, this morning, this moment, this new bucket of sludge I carry ... is His method of removing vice and growing virtue in my soul. Of making me a child running into His arms. If ever there were anything that bled me each day, it’s the necessary … the required, and expected. Echoing the Solomon cantata: “All is vain!” is presently evidenced in the numerous ‘Complaint Choirs’ coming of age in many countries. Gorgeous choral work, but every word a gripe and whine, in concert.

What anchors me, and keeps me standing midstream in the torrents of our Sin Sewer, is looking up. He places me where my weakness floats quickly to the surface. He reveals whether I’m willing to immediately rush to Him or wallow around until I am so covered in daily shit, I am forced to cry out. It’d be much simpler if at the outset my natural inclination and love is both arms thrust upward for help.

Isn’t that what a child does … with their smallest scrape? What happened to me? Where I am now, is His way of grinding out of me my self determination to do everything without Him. Wait over there on the sidelines until I am worn out, flat on my back and pulverized … and THEN sub for me. I can handle it, and someday I might ask You to help me … with the big jobs.

He is NOT going to put me in His service as ‘the one offering hope and evidence of a better way’ until my submission is fact. Until I say this day, this morning, this moment, this new bucket of sludge I carry … is His method of removing vice and growing virtue in my soul. Of making me a child running into His arms.

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