![]() ![]() We have no real family, but we become Your sons through Your blood. ![]() We have no credentials, but we wear the badges of Your accomplishments. We are weak, but You are strong, and our strength. We are dead, but You made us alive in Christ. We are sinful, but Your grace is greater still and You cover us in Your perfection. He switched places with us, because of love–who He is (1 Jn 4:19). He became a slave so that we could become sons. He soaked up our sin so that we could bask in His reward. And He invites us into His story–where we begin to understand that the gravity of who we are is weighed in part to the greater, more compelling truth of who He is.Īnd His nature and His character for us, if anything, is most highly demonstrated in the face of Jesus Christ, where He proved that He loved us so much that He wasn’t ever willing to let us go–to leave us in our muck of sin and lifeless, hollow depravity (2 Co 4:6). ![]() *Quick side-note: how could the creation dismiss the Creator’s intentions for it, as if they don’t exist, or believe them to be wrong? It is illogically inconceivable.Īnd so, we were made by and for God (Rom 11:36 Col 1:16). And we can’t see ourselves rightly until we first see God rightly–the One who designed, purposed, and breathed life into us all along. Who we are is only understood in light of who God is. Similarly, the meaning of our life is enveloped in Him, and enraptured in His greater story that is going on right now as you read this. In fact, regardless of how great the credentials the letter bears, without the name, it is rendered arbitrary–lost of meaning and identity, which are the two necessary intangibles that give life and understanding to the words on the page. A letter ultimately does not make sense without the authorship and seal of its Bearer. The letter of our life receives its worth and meaning from its greater envelope, which is addressed, stamped, sealed with the significance of its Author and Sender. It answers the question of who we are in light of who God is. See, the question “Who am I, that You are mindful of me?” doesn’t answer who we are-at least, directly. Who is this psalmist, that he would ever deserve the work of God in his life? What had he done to possibly warrant such loving attention, care, blessing, security, provision, and salvation from God? The psalmist is simply overcome by the sheer weightiness of this unmerited, unreasonable, yet so refreshingly good grace. “Who am I, that You would be mindful of me?” is the psalmist’s response to feeling the overwhelming grace of God in his life. The verse highlights the indescribable, baffling nature of the completely unobligated sovereign of the Universe, who lovingly pursues, redeems, and rewards creation rebels through unreasonable, unmerited grace. What I misunderstood for so long is that the verse does not as much lend emphasis on us as it does to emphasize the nature of God. ![]() Me: “Man, I must be really important if God is this mindful of me”.īut I was reading this verse so foolishly, through the distorted lens of my own, inherent and deep depravity. What a tragedy to not see beyond myself, and the need to be rescued from incessant naval gazing. A rotten heart exploiting the Bible to make it increasingly rotten. What a narcissistic and inwardly-distorting way to read this verse–at least on the surface–and so falsely and terribly give ‘godly’ confirmation to my already sinful, self-absorbed heart. This question used to make me feel really good inside, as if it highlighted the great value in “high significant” me that somehow compelled the God of the Universe to take a captivating interest in. Who am I, Lord, that you are mindful of me? (Ps. ![]()
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