Measuring Up

As I think back over the things I've written, I sense a level of smugness. After all, I assume that what I write is worth reading by someone. I assume my words carry enough meaning or wisdom that they are worth someone's time and attention. Having someone read and appreciate what I've written is a great complement.

Sometimes I wonder, though, about my supposed wisdom. I stand before a God who knows as well as I do what I've messed up and really have no standing to lift my head to Him. It is not so much that I am useless, as He is great. But I have some pretty big flaws. Can wisdom be gained from someone as imperfect as I am?

Or maybe it's imperfect that builds wisdom. Maybe it's the process of trying and failing and then trying again. And then repeating the process when you fail again.

I don't know. I guess the beginning of wisdom is that even though I fall short of what God wants of me, He lets me come to Him and continues to bless me more than I could ever deserve, not out of obligation, but out of love.

That's pretty cool.