As I walked the bike path near my home this morning with my three dogs in 4 inches of ice-capped snow, I looked up and noticed the trees that lined the railroad tracks near the path were all weighted down with snow. Their curved boughs seemed to be bowing to me and my canine friends as we passed by on the path. Instantly the story of Joseph rose in my mind. As a small child, he became his father’s favorite and was showered with special gifts like a coat of many colors and light duty chores. As he grew older, Joseph had dreams that sheaves of corn and the stars were bowing down to him and he told his brothers and father that they were the sheaves and the stars. Although Joseph is the most pristine non-Jesus character in the Bible in my opinion, he allowed his specialness to go to his head. He became arrogant.
The word “arrogance” is not found in Ann Voskamp’s blog today, but her words are a perfect description of it. One of her lines made me snap to attention: Since when did I begin thinking my contribution to the world was so significant — uncrumbed counters, unlegoed floors — that I was so necessary, that I couldn’t stop, slow, still and commune with Jesus?
I am slowly learning to make time for Jesus. I was so happy that I could recite, fairly fluently, Colossians 1: 1-5 to my husband this morning after our devotions. This was only possible because for the past 18 days I have been intentional about committing these verses to memory. Some non-important things on my agenda were dropped so that I could be still and spend quality time in the Word to commit it to memory. Today I have visions of “hope stored up in heaven.” What does that look like? Colossians 1:5 says that faith and love springs from hope stored up in heaven. Will the Word stored in memory effect my hope stored up in heaven? I believe so, so what I choose to attend to is important. John the Baptist said it well, “I must decrease, He must increase.”
Trying to lose myself in order to find myself,