Regina The sound of a broom sliding across tile in rapid succession is a sound almost as familiar as the belly laughter of my children. This family produces crumbs enough for three square meals. There is nothing pretty about crumbs, and I am not aware of a way you can capture the mess to make it look more glamorous than it is. So I didn’t bother trying (smile).
The truth of it is, I am always sweeping crumbs, moving around bits of dust, picking up the messy remnants of a good and full life.
The stuff on the floor of my heart needs sweeping too. It needs to be moved around, usually out. It needs repenting of. I am the mess. Our Holy Father uses the Spirit of Jesus to sweep me up, to move the bit of dust that I am in the right direction. Even in this abundant life Jesus gave to me, I am still not made perfect yet. When we see Him, we will be like Him, because we will see Him just as He is.
I am not perfect. I am not complete. I am messy, and amazingly that is ok. The Father is patient with dust. He remembers what we are.
So, there is no use in fault finding. It is folly to judge another. There is a plank in your own eye, usually. Yes, it is helpful to get the speck out of your brother’s eye too, and surely he will be the better for it if you do, but this stuff of flesh that painstakingly begrudges goodness and seeks fault in the lives of others is sin. We have been both victim and perpetrator I imagine.
…save others by snatching them out of the fire; to others show mercy with fear, hating even the garment stained by the flesh.
Mercy is beautiful. That rare beauty of heart we too often lack. God is patient with you. Patient with dust. Sweeping and sweeping the floor of your heart. He doesn’t despise you. He doesn’t begrudge the task. He looks at the dirt and sees white brilliant splendor, a saint all arrayed in the Son. A woman worth bearing with.
If we have been afforded such grace, let us be so wise as to give it away.
