Behold the Lamb

I’m writing to you from my favorite spot on the back porch. I can see the little blue nylon tent from here. The wind is threatening to tote it to the lake right now and I’m tempted to let it. I’m at odds with that silly tent. Its story has continued to unfold from the day I pulled it out of the carrier it came in.

I bought the tent for my grandchildren, and just as I thought, the group deemed it a super duper play house. Setting it up was as easy as the package advertised. It popped right out of its handy dandy pouch, setting off squeals of delight from the All Things Southern Grand Czars. Returning it to the carrying case? That’s where the real fun began. According to the instructions, collapsing it is a one, two, three type of thing. It’s almost comical to watch the beloved hubby and I try to wrangle it into submission. We remain stuck on illustration number two.

Here’s something to think about. The Bible calls these flesh and blood homes that our spirits in “tents”, too, and when the Lord comes to live in us, we see the New Covenant fulfillment of the Old Testament Tent of Meeting where God descended to meet with man. We’re often slow to admit it, but once we unfold this wonderful gift of salvation, we can find ourselves as challenged with handling this tent of meeting as I am with that store bought job I’m watching in my peripheral vision.

I may never be able to man-handle that nylon blue tent, but I’ve learned a crucial lesson about dwelling in this flesh and blood tent with the Almighty. I can’t manhandle my own personal mess and I’m not meant to try.

As believers, the Word teaches that we’ve become the temple of God, His sanctuary. That same Word says we’re increasingly transformed into His image, not by our efforts, but by looking away from ourselves and training our eyes on Jesus. Infatuation proceeds transformation. Forget self. Behold the Lamb.

Hugs, Shellie