A friend had an old 1981 Ford truck whose only function was to haul trash. When he no longer needed the truck and was unable to sell it, he gave it to Bill. It has four-wheel drive and a massive front bumper capable of taking on elk if necessary, but it also has almost 200,000 miles and it really is an ugly truck. The paint is dying, the quarter panels are rusting out and the dashboard is cracked and crumbling. Early this winter a tree branch broke off and dented the top edge of the bed, but we weren’t upset. In fact we laughed about it. The new dent just seemed to add more character to the poor thing. I think believers have something in common that old truck. The longer we’re in service to the Lord the more battle scars we’ll wear…and the new dents just add to our spiritual character.
1 comment:
Gail;
-----I think your attitude towards that old truck has a lot in common with Scripture. You are right, we are all like that old truck. The dying paint, the rust, the crumbling dashboard, the new dent, and all the old ones are not what the truck should be. In spite of its 200,000 miles and twenty nine years of use, perfection would be spotlessly shiny paint without dents, rust, or scratches. No rattles. No leaks, squeaks, or vibrations. And an interior still smelling like new. But that is not for this world. Bill’s old Ford testifies to that. Neither is the perfection we have in Christ the absolute lack of character and personality flaws. It isn’t even the predominant lack of them. Our perfection of behavior and being is not for this world. The Word calls us to be humbly honest about our flaws, and those of others. Yet it also challenges us to welcome one another as Christ has welcomed us (Rom 15:7), seeking to please each other in spite of failures (Rom 15:1-2). For as Bill’s old truck benefits him even in its beat up condition, each of us benefit the Lord while we so often fail to be what we should be. Our righteousness is in how the Lord looks at us. We must look at one another the same way. The way you look at Bill’s truck.
Love you all,
Steve Corey
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