The Stop Sign
A few days ago, I drank my morning coffee and spent time with Jesus before leaving for my prayer group.
I hustled out the door, backed out of the driveway, and headed toward my friend's home. Three blocks later, red and blue lights pulsed in my rear-view mirror. My heart sank, my body tensed, and my hands tightened around the wheel as I eased toward the side of the road.
Once I pulled over, a young officer appeared at my window. She told me I had not stopped at the stop sign. I knew it the moment I saw her lights. A new four-way sign had been in place for about three weeks. Distracted by a swirl of thoughts and life's current demands, I let muscle memory take over as I drove the familiar route. Approaching the intersection, I flipped on my blinker and turned right without slowing down. I was guilty.
My hands fumbled through the glove box for my registration and insurance card, and I handed them over with my license. She returned to her patrol car, lights still flashing to warn approaching drivers. As I waited, feeling exposed and stupid, I remembered my prayer time that morning.
I had been praying about false beliefs I have carried about who I am. Our unique story, culture, family systems, and even the voice of the enemy shape our beliefs from a young age. For me, one keeps surfacing, and God has revealed it over and over in different ways. As a child, I internalized the lie that I am loved, valued, and approved of because I am well-behaved, don't cause trouble, and do the "right thing."
Anyone who has been on a retreat with me or in a class I have led has heard me say, "It's a sneaky lie, because how could it be wrong to be right?"
Over coffee that morning, I had aligned with God's Word once again: I am loved because of God's love and the cross of Jesus, even when I'm selfish, make mistakes, or fail. I am forgiven and wanted.
Still, the missed stop sign stung.
I was caught off guard by how quickly the old lie found me. My emotions were snagged.
I turned my attention to Jesus and could almost hear his chuckle. He didn't say it, but I knew it: "See how much I love you. And yes, I love you here."
What lies about who you are tend to catch you?
And how might Jesus be inviting you to receive his love and respond,
right there in the middle of that moment?
"The Lord is like a father to his children, tender and compassionate to those who fear him. For he knows how weak we are; he remembers we are only dust."
Psalm 103:13-14 NLT
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