Sunday morning, and the house is quiet enough to hear the kettle tick as it cools. Wherever you're sitting, take a slow breath. Someone has been working on you all week, and he is not done.
"Being confident of this very thing, that he which hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ." — Philippians 1:6 (KJV)
This morning's prayer Father, you started something in me, and you have not wandered off. I picture you at the workbench, sleeves rolled, thumb running along the grain, still pleased with what you see. Parts of me are rough. Parts of me are barely a sketch. You don't sigh at that. You pick up the plane and keep going. Thank you for the old habits curling off like pale shavings onto the floor. Thank you that I am not the one who has to finish me. When I notice a splinter in my temper or a gap in my patience today, let me hear the work going on instead of a verdict. I'll walk into worship unfinished and glad. Hold me steady under your hands. Amen.
Today, on purpose:
Sit through one worship song without critiquing myself