Flat-faced on the Floor

Though a righteous man falls seven times, he rises again…

Proverbs 24:16

Don't you just hate it when your piece of toast falls to the kitchen floor with the buttered side down? It happened to me yesterday morning. This time it was my favorite toothbrush, facedown on the bathroom floor. Yuk!!! Well I had to brush my teeth so I did the logical thing...

It has happened to you too. Remember that time many Christmases ago when you were running in the yard with that savory piece of fried goat that aunty had just given you? You hit your foot against a rock and were sent sprawling along the ground, your cherished piece of meat flying out of your hand and hitting the dirt. I saw you when you picked it up, completely unconcerned that you had soiled your Christmas best. You dusted it off and popped it into your mouth, savoring the sweet juices. Don't worry, I would have done the same thing (or perhaps I have done!)

And I'm thinking that perhaps we sometimes feel like that piece of toast, that yellow toothbrush, that cube of fried meat. We are like that when we soil ourselves in the dirt, when we wallow in our sin, unconcerned that Someone cared enough for us to butter us, to lather us, to hold us carefully in his hands. But then all of a sudden we realize what has happened and how far we have fallen and we long again for His touch.

We lie forlorn, helpless and hopeless on the floor, wondering if He would bother once again to pick us up. After all this is not the first time, not the second time, not the third time either. We would be forgiven for thinking we had exhausted grace and He had run out of mercy.

But thank God we are not God. Each time, every time, He picks us up, dusts us off and savors us once again. And then He makes us right, crediting our account with His own righteousness (Romans 4:24). We may have to endure a few slaps of His hand as He shakes the dust free of us but just the touch of His finger is healing enough. We are never too far gone, never down and out, never too dirty to be picked up, cleaned and brought back home. Like the Prodigal son, let us come to our senses, pick up our baggages and go back home. The Father is waiting.

With love, Doosuur.