Into the Fire

Small. Smallness. Less than the tiniest pinpoint on the entire earth’s surface and netherworld. Expanded into the universe and the heavens, I am just . . . here.

God, I am almost non-existent. Certainly insignificant. A no name for sure. No one to many. Nothing worth mentioning in comparison to just about anyone or anything. Just . . . here.

I ask for the increase in something so miniscule as a novel, knowing my Lord is the only one who brings such things. For the potential money? No. Unequivocally: No. For the message, the heart of the story, the hope it can reach, touch, somehow minister? Yes. Without a doubt: Yes.

Knowing that reaching, touching, ministering are not unimportant. These things encapsulate the very reason for our existence. To bring what little glory my life can shed on the magnificence of our God and King—the ultimate use of one life. My desire. To do what He has asked of me.

He didn’t send me to foreign lands to preach the gospel. He didn’t ask me to attend school to pursue theological positions in the church. He called me like He does every other Christian to share His “old, old story—how a Savior came from Glory”. The Gospel. The one thing all Christians have in common: Acts 1:8. Be His witnesses—in all our various forms, ways, with all of our hearts, giving all of our efforts to be who He has called us to be.

And so I write the stories He has given me to tell. Desiring to fulfill his instructions to me. Inconsequential as I feel and in the bigger scope surely am. Yet He uses me in ways I can’t evaluate and are positively inadequate in all of my estimations. Worthless it seems to me.

But not to Him. To Him I matter and have a place to do things that do somehow account for something in His grand scheme. Unimaginable.

Since I am just . . . here.

Lord of all, you can use the least of us which I am. Thank you, Jesus, for saving my soul. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.