My daughter asked why I hadn't blogged anything inspirational. Hmmm. Maybe my brain cells have been used up writing and editing four fiction manuscripts. So I pulled out one of my older writings from when my mind was younger. A struggle for approval that still can raise its ugly head. Maybe you can relate, maybe not. Here goes.
Confession of an Ignoble Heart
I formed for myself an idol. I contrived it into being. I molded and shaped it in a fashion so indistinguishable that its appearance was almost innocent. Yet an idol is never innocent, nor will God all it to remain hidden, either within His temple or without. He is not ignorant of the high places that we run to. If we contend with Him in thought, wrestle with Him in Prayer, our most ingenuous deceptions will be brought to light and resolutely purified. Thus I came to know the idol in the hidden recesses of my soul.
Born a seeker, I began to worship the approval of mankind. What sacrifice could I bring the god of self-worth? Surely, I could offer up my determination, my dependability. On feast days, I would bring my offering of flattering words and self-righteous works. Who wouldn't acknowledge the worth of all my discipleship?
Pride masquerades itself as work ethic. Arrogance disguises itself as goodness. The web of deceit entangles those encountered as I, the spinner of the web, am also entrapped. My heart betrays my mind, spinning inward to convince myself of my own rhetoric. My thinking begins to contort my soul, and insecurities rob His joy from me.
The Irony of the god of approval is its fickleness. The emotional consequences of looking to others for approval are disastrous, the spiritual consequences devastating.
Yet, He heals my infirmities. He delights in me. His love reveals, then unbinds my fetters. "When will my heart fully look only to my Father for approval?" I ask myself. Morning by morning, minute by minute, I must allow Him to fill and satisfy my soul. I will tear down the high places, once and for all. When He leads me in His paths of righteousness, I must follow Him with or without the accolades of those I long to please.
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Under the Southern Sun
Janet W. Ferguson