James 1:19-27
I
live in a trailer that's about fifty years old, and with it comes an
abundance of cockroaches. I've heard there's a bunch of crime that goes
on in this community, but I haven't seen it. I've heard that gambling
stings and prostitution raids have gone on here, but I haven't seen
them. The only thing that terrifies me about this town is the roaches
deciding to make their home in my home. Better yet, I think I may have
made my home in the roaches' home.
For all I know, I could get onto Wikipedia and edit my own little entry about Bacliff, Texas. It would say something like this: "This city is quite possibly the state capital of cockroaches."
As I write, I'm glancing over at one. Because of my frequent contact with these nasty things, I've learned something. Roaches don't die on their feet. If you were to come visit, you would find about thirty roaches littered around the floor on their backs. The one I'm looking at right now is on its back, waving its legs in the air, and I'm assuming its gasping for breath in only the way a cockroach could. Normally, I would have stared at it for five minutes figuring out a plan of attack. Now, there's a lot of detail that goes into a plan of attack like this. The idea of using my foot or anything less than five feet long to smack the roach terrifies me. What if it decided to give one last burst of life and jump on me? I don't like taking the risk of a roach touching me - at all.
After developing the plan of attack, I usually grab the broom since it's the longest weapon I have. Then, using the horse hair bristles of the broom, I bristle the roach to death or near death - just enough to where I can sweep it into the dustpan and send down the toilet to join the plethra of dead roaches infiltrating Bacliff's sewer system.
With all that said, I'm letting this one go. Why? Because, in my roachy experience, once they get on their backs they die. They move for awhile as if they think they're going to live, but they die. For some reason, they can't turn themselves over. They have no amount of willpower that will get them into the action of standing back up and terrorizing me in my sleep. This one isn't a threat, although my mind tells me it is, but that's all unrealistic fear.
R.I.P. Roach
The author of James says that real religion is reaching out to the homeless and loveless. It's taking belief and turning it into action. It's taking the tests and challenges that come my way, and instead of getting into a position on my back and waiting to die, standing on my feet and waiting to live.
I've had a hard time with this lately. For a person who spends a lot of time in the scriptures, I have to tell you that much of it is mostly religious talk. Most of the time I'm talking about things that I merely wish to do or want to do. I hear the commands, the principles, and the truth, but once I walk away from it I forget who I am and what I've just read. There's a big connection between my ears and my heart. If there's no heart in what I'm hearing, it fades away as quickly as it came. If there is heart, then the process goes way further than hearing. It turns into doing. I've been stuck on my back waving my legs in the air in self-pity, something I'm sure this cockroach can relate to.
So, how could reaching out to the homeless and the loveless possibly be a solution to the problems I have inside of me? I believe it's in the meager attempt to get out of myself in even the slightest ways, that I begin to breathe in true life. Lately I've been choosing to wait for a handout from God. I haven't had the slightest desire to get into action. I've wanted to lay in the dust and see if anyone notices me as I run out of breath.
So, today, I'm going into the day acknowledging that I can continue laying on my back in self-pity, or I can reach out to someone who needs it. Reaching out means getting out of me. When I get out of me, it allows God to work in me. It gets me out of God's way. We'll see what happens. As for the roach, I'm gonna let him die while I'm at work and put him down the toilet when I get home.
For all I know, I could get onto Wikipedia and edit my own little entry about Bacliff, Texas. It would say something like this: "This city is quite possibly the state capital of cockroaches."
As I write, I'm glancing over at one. Because of my frequent contact with these nasty things, I've learned something. Roaches don't die on their feet. If you were to come visit, you would find about thirty roaches littered around the floor on their backs. The one I'm looking at right now is on its back, waving its legs in the air, and I'm assuming its gasping for breath in only the way a cockroach could. Normally, I would have stared at it for five minutes figuring out a plan of attack. Now, there's a lot of detail that goes into a plan of attack like this. The idea of using my foot or anything less than five feet long to smack the roach terrifies me. What if it decided to give one last burst of life and jump on me? I don't like taking the risk of a roach touching me - at all.
After developing the plan of attack, I usually grab the broom since it's the longest weapon I have. Then, using the horse hair bristles of the broom, I bristle the roach to death or near death - just enough to where I can sweep it into the dustpan and send down the toilet to join the plethra of dead roaches infiltrating Bacliff's sewer system.
With all that said, I'm letting this one go. Why? Because, in my roachy experience, once they get on their backs they die. They move for awhile as if they think they're going to live, but they die. For some reason, they can't turn themselves over. They have no amount of willpower that will get them into the action of standing back up and terrorizing me in my sleep. This one isn't a threat, although my mind tells me it is, but that's all unrealistic fear.
R.I.P. Roach
The author of James says that real religion is reaching out to the homeless and loveless. It's taking belief and turning it into action. It's taking the tests and challenges that come my way, and instead of getting into a position on my back and waiting to die, standing on my feet and waiting to live.
I've had a hard time with this lately. For a person who spends a lot of time in the scriptures, I have to tell you that much of it is mostly religious talk. Most of the time I'm talking about things that I merely wish to do or want to do. I hear the commands, the principles, and the truth, but once I walk away from it I forget who I am and what I've just read. There's a big connection between my ears and my heart. If there's no heart in what I'm hearing, it fades away as quickly as it came. If there is heart, then the process goes way further than hearing. It turns into doing. I've been stuck on my back waving my legs in the air in self-pity, something I'm sure this cockroach can relate to.
So, how could reaching out to the homeless and the loveless possibly be a solution to the problems I have inside of me? I believe it's in the meager attempt to get out of myself in even the slightest ways, that I begin to breathe in true life. Lately I've been choosing to wait for a handout from God. I haven't had the slightest desire to get into action. I've wanted to lay in the dust and see if anyone notices me as I run out of breath.
So, today, I'm going into the day acknowledging that I can continue laying on my back in self-pity, or I can reach out to someone who needs it. Reaching out means getting out of me. When I get out of me, it allows God to work in me. It gets me out of God's way. We'll see what happens. As for the roach, I'm gonna let him die while I'm at work and put him down the toilet when I get home.
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