Somewhere recently I was asked to consider what it is that makes me most passionate- what gets my blood boiling, my foot tapping, my mouth chomping at the bit like a horse eager for a run…
I had to stop and think, which is an unusual thing for me because I’ve always been so forthcoming with opinions and ideas. This time, though, I was stumped for a good few minutes. I couldn’t think what I am passionate about because lately, well, I just haven’t been “engaged” enough in anything to get passionate about it.
I used to be passionate about so many things, and most of all I almost burned sometimes with the desire to share with other people, anyone who would listen, about what changes were wrought in my life by Jesus, the Son of God. Nothing got me more excited than talking about Him, especially with people who were unfamiliar with Him or had misconceptions about Him. I loved to just talk about this Man, who was my best friend, who was intervening in my life on a daily basis and proving over and over again that, though He did die once, He is now more alive than ever.
Lately, though, I have been less than enthusiastic about Jesus, and it has nothing to do with Him changing (He never does, He is always unfathomably awesome). It had, rather, everything to do with me changing. The change wasn’t quick or sudden, and it sure wasn’t something I decided to do. I certainly wouldn’t consciously slide away from my Lover, my Friend, but slide I did, because I simply got sloppy.
Like a lover who gets lazy in his relationship, making less and less effort to be with his love- talking with her, sharing life with her- I made less and less time for Jesus in my daily life. I didn’t mean to do it, and it’s not like my life went skidding way off the rails or anything as dramatic as all that, but this coldness started to creep in. I stopped talking to Jesus. I stopped looking for His footprints ahead of mine on the path. I stopped listening for His voice. I lost the passionate fervour that once was mine when I talked about Him to others- like a giddy schoolgirl with a heady crush on the “hottest” guy in school.
Far more tragic it is, though, to lose excitement over someone who rescued you, saved your foot from slipping and gave meaning to your existence, than it is to simply lose interest in a “hot guy”. I didn’t just stop talking to Jesus when I stopped talking to Jesus- I stopped living, really living.
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And not a truer word spoken. Don't we all feel like this.