For
me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.
A
couple of weeks or so, a very good friend of mine posted that verse on her Facebook
page. Our Heavenly Father then gave me a
comment pointing out that this was Him allowing the Apostle Paul to express his
own natural feelings on the subject. For
it was not as if the Apostle Paul did not fully understand that our Heavenly
Father could accomplish everything He wanted to without the help of others like
himself. That was a paraphrase of the
actual comment, by the way.
To
finish the last of that story, I felt very good about the comment. For I thought at the time that she was a
devout [Arminian], who believe
that true Christians serve as our Heavenly Father’s hands and feet in this
world because He will not directly interfere with our freewill, among other
reasons. Our Heavenly Father has since
pointed out to me that I was very wrong about her, which is another thing I am
deeply ashamed of.
Around
seven hours ago, our Heavenly Father gave me an opportunity to practice what He
had me preaching (so to speak) with the aforementioned comment. For I awoke from my slumber to both sides of
my neck aching worse than I can recall happening before. While trying to position my neck so I
could go back to sleep, I had the thought that I was in the beginning stages of
having a massive heartache. My release
from this prison of a world was being processed, and I was about to go home to
spend all of eternity with my Heavenly Father in His Kingdom of Heaven as an
heir to all that is His in glory.
Did
I rejoice? After all, I have been saying
(also so to speak) quite frequently since my beloved wife, Arlynda, went home
last December 5th that it was my turn next. No, I followed the Apostle Paul’s example.
No,
you should not be amazed at my willingness to continue to suffer so greatly in
this world in order to continue to serve.
For I was foolishly (wickedly, actually) thinking that I did not want to
go home when I can now see some of MY efforts coming to fruition.
Yes,
our Heavenly Father delights in displaying His perfection in and through imperfect
people like myself, but I wish He had
not created me quite so imperfect as I naturally am. Woe is me.
May not my will be done—but His.
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