Thirty eight years, six months, and 11 days.
That’s how long I’ve been, well, Erik Cooper.
The Bible says that God knew me before I was even born, so maybe the Big Guy’s had my name on this locker even longer than I realize. But with that many rotations around the sun in the rear view mirror, this text I sent my wife this afternoon seems kind of silly:
I feel like me? Geez, who else would I possibly feel like? Is this going to turn into some weird Oprah special where they’re all crying at the end?
I bet you know what I mean. Some days we just live small. Oppressed. Underneath the expectations of an opinionated, cynical, comparative, loud, condescending, and grace-less world. And if you don’t give up or start shouting back, you probably spend a lot of your day (even subliminally) trying to become what others say you should become. Or worse yet, what others have interpreted God has said you should become.
I’ve been there.
But not today. Today I feel like me. Blessed, broken, forgiven, redeemed me. And it feels pretty darn good. No pretense. No hedging. No “should-ing.” No condemnation. No comparisons. No finger-pointing. No apologies.
The Gospel doesn’t activate when I finally get the ingredients right. The Gospel is the right ingredient (it’s the only ingredient) that releases the real me. The one God fashioned and formed before the foundations of the earth were laid.
So cut through all the noise…
“Do this! Embrace that! Engage this! Move here! Stop that! Champion this!”
…and let the gift of Jesus empower you to be….well…you. I’m feeling the freedom of that today. Of being me that is, not you. That’s your gig.