resuscitate me.

1,2,3,4,5,6,7 *crack* 8,9,10,11 *crack* … 18,19 *crunch* 20,21… *snap* 30 breathe… breathe… CPR is brutal, violent, it pounds, it cracks, it breaks bones, and it gives life.

In our sin we were dead, lifeless, + abandoned. Alone. God found us, lying there pulseless, breathless. Flatline. Instead of declaring us dead on the spot he got down on his knees and made us breathe. He put his hands on our chest, and began compressions. He did the work. He paid the price. It was nothing short of a miracle. It wasn’t easy, it surely wasn’t painless, and many of us ended up on life support for along time. Hey, I’m sure not complaining. A few broken ribs in exchange for a new life?

We all need a reality orientation.

On January 1st + as people sit down + scribble resolutions that they will forget about in 2.5weeks – let’s forget it. Let’s make a new plan. Step back. Take a minute. Examine. What needs to get tossed out in our lives? What’s causing us to consistently need to be revived? Create a new plan, the old one sucked anyways. You know it, God know’s it, your friends know it. They all know. So, why do we keep hiding behind it?

I’ve been reading the book “When The Game Is Over, It All Goes Back In The Box” by John Ortberg. He expels the “it’s all about me” with just a sentence: “I was one roll of the dice away from the biggest lesson life has to teach: the absolute necessity of arranging life around what matters in light of our morality + eternity”. Bam. Floored. Guilty verdict. Declared dead. Game over. Nothing more needed to be said. If that doesn’t sting, I don’t know what will.

When you are laying there, breathless, pulseless, what will you have to show for your time here? That house with the white picket fence ain’t coming after you…