What goes down must come up

Sometimes it feels so mechanical; life that is. I am programmed to do so many things and these things I do, over and over again like a well-oiled machine; I move from one day to the next and the next. I move to the rhythm of musts. When everything unimportant feels necessary.

I am convinced that we either live in this monotonous, unadventurous, safe denial, or we encounter just how defective we all really are; of course along with the latter we may encounter the potential for our effectiveness as well. But the only way to do what is truly good is to first face the reality of our defectiveness; of our disease, running throughout every part of us. If I were to make a machine in my likeness, I would throw it away because of all the problems it would cause. Yet this is the machine in which I live. I am this that ought to be given up on and thrown away.

But I am valued, and in being valued I find hope. If God himself believes I am worth keeping around, than who am I to disagree. But to move without malfunctioning I must rely on the maker to operate me properly. I cannot function correctly, I cannot function without fault on my own.

But what an amazing piece of work he wants me to be. Through him and with him and in him i can do all things. I am making plans to make him great; to reflect the designer. I will function as he intended but he must be operating. I must become less; he must become more. And he will raise up those who are bowed down.