Friday, July 20, 2012

He Stooped


With feet firmly planted, he stood.
Then he stooped.
That's what a baby does when he is practicing to walk. My grandson was busy practicing.
He was bent on honing this skill. Stand. Stoop.
I think I have this skill of standing down pat. I arrogantly admire the view from my lofty height of accomplishment. Of wholeness. Of knowing God.
It is the stooping that causes me to tremble.

stoop vb. 1. to descend from one's level
            1. to drop in status or dignity
            2. to abase or humble
It is too easy to point the finger, rather than descend. “He just needs to grow up!” “She will never change.” “Why don't they just read the Bible?” This, this, is faulty ground to stand upon.
To firmly plant my feet I must look to Him. Who descended, cast aside His dignity. Who humbled. And stooped. For me.
If I am to stoop, I must cast aside this pride of more and better and whole. To put on less and worse and broken. It is to accept, encourage and love.
My grandson stands once more. Then stoops.
I try again too.

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