2 Samuel 7:1-17
I'll
never forget going back to see my house after hurricane Ike came
rolling through Galveston. It literally looked like twelve feet of water
came surging through it. The ceiling fell through. The stairs going up
to the front door were moved to the back. The walls were covered with
black mold. I could see the water line, showing me the history of what
happened while I was partying in San Antonio, waiting out the storm.
My office was completely gutted, with wires hanging from the ceiling. What used to be a desk was displaced two hundred feet from where I used to sit. Remnants of supplies like staplers and computers were scattered around the property. Fish were poking through the chain linked fence like a cast net. Cars were hundreds of feet away from parking lots, boats were sitting on freeways. It looked like hell had given Galveston a visit.
Everything that once had meaning was reduced to a pile of rubble, meaningless and dirty, and it would take years to rebuild.
In today's passage, we're told about a house. It's a different kind of house. It's a house that is built to last and persevere through the trials of life. It's a house made of people.
Instead of mortar, it's our very heartbeats that provide the adhesive. The foundation is God's love, binding us together in a way that can't be broken. We are each wired in a way that contributes uniquely to the construction of this house, and whatever material it is, it's not an insignificant one at all. We've each been given a unique role to play in the maintenance of this house.
It's so easy to spend this time in the morning preparing for the day, then forgetting everything by the time I walk into the job. I no longer see the people I work with as vital parts of the house, but random, insignificant products of procreation. Depending on the day, I'll think that I'm the one who has the significant role, while everyone should look to me to find their significance - a role that is reserved for the founder and not I.
But, then there's those days where it just seems to come together. I see what I'm supposed to see. The people around me aren't insignificant or random pawns in the game of life. They are equal parts in a give and take construction and maintenance of a house that's grounded in a power none other than God. When my eyes are opened to this phenomenon, I realize that the world is not some random, evil, entity but full of people who are each contributing to a house much bigger than anything I could ever imagine. People become vital parts of the whole. I become a vital part of the whole. I begin to realize that my part is just as significant as everyone else's.
Bricks, mortar, and wood are replaced with love, compassion, and tolerance. The cement foundation is replaced by an undeniable power that sustains and grounds us. We start seeing past the surface of the physical world and begin seeing that a spiritual realm really does exist in the human heart after all.
Today's Action: Try to see below the surface. Try to see the people I interact with today as vital parts in the construction of a house built on God's love. Try to see the good in humanity and not potential threats to my plans.
My office was completely gutted, with wires hanging from the ceiling. What used to be a desk was displaced two hundred feet from where I used to sit. Remnants of supplies like staplers and computers were scattered around the property. Fish were poking through the chain linked fence like a cast net. Cars were hundreds of feet away from parking lots, boats were sitting on freeways. It looked like hell had given Galveston a visit.
Everything that once had meaning was reduced to a pile of rubble, meaningless and dirty, and it would take years to rebuild.
In today's passage, we're told about a house. It's a different kind of house. It's a house that is built to last and persevere through the trials of life. It's a house made of people.
Instead of mortar, it's our very heartbeats that provide the adhesive. The foundation is God's love, binding us together in a way that can't be broken. We are each wired in a way that contributes uniquely to the construction of this house, and whatever material it is, it's not an insignificant one at all. We've each been given a unique role to play in the maintenance of this house.
It's so easy to spend this time in the morning preparing for the day, then forgetting everything by the time I walk into the job. I no longer see the people I work with as vital parts of the house, but random, insignificant products of procreation. Depending on the day, I'll think that I'm the one who has the significant role, while everyone should look to me to find their significance - a role that is reserved for the founder and not I.
But, then there's those days where it just seems to come together. I see what I'm supposed to see. The people around me aren't insignificant or random pawns in the game of life. They are equal parts in a give and take construction and maintenance of a house that's grounded in a power none other than God. When my eyes are opened to this phenomenon, I realize that the world is not some random, evil, entity but full of people who are each contributing to a house much bigger than anything I could ever imagine. People become vital parts of the whole. I become a vital part of the whole. I begin to realize that my part is just as significant as everyone else's.
Bricks, mortar, and wood are replaced with love, compassion, and tolerance. The cement foundation is replaced by an undeniable power that sustains and grounds us. We start seeing past the surface of the physical world and begin seeing that a spiritual realm really does exist in the human heart after all.
Today's Action: Try to see below the surface. Try to see the people I interact with today as vital parts in the construction of a house built on God's love. Try to see the good in humanity and not potential threats to my plans.
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