all of the exceptions

On the surface, I am kind. Minnesota Nice. I smile at strangers, hold open doors, say please and thank you, make a conscious attempt to put myself in others shoes and try to let my life reflect what God has given me. 

Except I fail all the time.

I am rude to my family. I am impatient with my coworkers. I speak when I should remain silent (and vice versa). I'm stubborn and selfish. I take a longer way home to avoid a stop light where I know a homeless man is asking for money. Even after India, I still hate being uncomfortable and within a few short months of being home, I've found myself settled in my old life.

Except I haven't.

The steadiness of my job, the familiarity of friends, the ease of a Sunday morning service now leaves me with a quiet nagging of Is that it?

Except I already know the answer.

Of course not.

The question becomes What am I going to do about it? 

Here is something I think about nearly every day: Right across the highway from my apartment is a cheap motel that the police have been called to dozens of times in the last year. It's a place for prostitutes and drug dealers. A woman was murdered there. In St. Louis Park. A stone's throw from my apartment and two blocks from a Jewish synagogue. And I wonder if Jesus were here, right now, which of those two places would He be?

Today, this: My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. 2 Cor 12:9


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