Who am I?

I get in a funk around Christmas every year. Different reasons every year, but it's most often because of the ridiculous expectations that are the cultural mandate. In an effort to focus on what's most important to me this morning, I opened up www.biblegateway.com. I wanted to search for a scripture in Lamentations that I love so.

As I was scanning the page I noticed an advertisement for a book about Tim Tebow. I thought, "I don't really know who that man is!" The only way I know of his fame is through Facebook posts--which sadly is often my primary source of news and information. He's a football player, I think. He must know Jesus or his face wouldn't sell anything on this website.

It started the wheels in my head.

Tim Tebow will never know of Lori Clark either. Tim Tebow will never drive down Big Sky Drive. If he drove by yesterday, it's highly likely he heard the squealing sound coming from the air vent on the top of my house. It's doubtful that he'd have stopped to offer his assistance with a can of some non-squeal solution. (BTW, if I learned anything at all from my sweet Daddy, it's that WD 40 is a staple in life.) It's even more doubtful that he'd been impressed that I climbed on the ladder and fixed that annoying sound this morning.

Even with the fame of being a football hero with some moral character to boot, it's likely that my grandchildren will not know who Tim Tebow is or was. Here's what I'm holding on to this morning--a morning where bad news still stings and the untangling of life just got more complicated. The God of the universe knows Tim Tebow. He also knows Lori Vae Hudgins Clark. My inability to run and throw a ball at the same time does not disqualify me from being a part of God's team. He knows my name. And He loves me.

He knows my name and my address and was aware of that shrill sound from my rooftop. He didn't offer to jump down from on high to fix my rooftop whirly thing. He did equip me with a mind and a ladder, good sturdy shoes and legs that still move well enough to propel themselves, with help from my voice giving a hearty grunt, up to the roof.

He and I had a lovely chat while I viewed my neighborhood with a view I've seen just a few times. I thanked Him for doing the work in the person of Christ so that I have hope and a home and a future. As much as I try, I'll never pull myself up to Heaven. Instead He came as one of us to offer me what I could never attain--a relationship with the greatest man who ever lived. One, who for generations people will shout His name and offer Him glory and honor. How could I refuse such an offer? I just can't and won't.

I certainly would never intentionally cast God in such common terms in order to place myself on par with Him. I'm just so simple, it's easier to imagine Him in ways that make sense to this creature. I chuckle when I think that God has my name tattooed on the palm of His hand.

And then, I'm comforted so that I can accept His new mercies today and offer him the vacancy of a wounded, healing heart.
Isaiah 49:16

¹⁶ See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands;