Love for the Lost
In his book Enjoying God, Lloyd Ogilvie writes:
My formative years ingrained the quid pro quo into my attitude toward myself: do and you’ll receive; perform and you’ll be loved. When I got good grades, achieved, and was a success, I felt acceptance from my parents. My dad taught me to fish and hunt and worked hard to provide for us, but I rarely heard him say, “Lloyd, I love you.” He tried to show it in actions, and sometimes I caught a twinkle of affirmation in his eyes. But I still felt empty.
When I became a Christian, I immediately became so involved in discipleship activities that I did not experience the profound healing of the grace I talked about theoretically …
I’ll never forget as long as I live the first time I really experienced healing grace. I was a postgraduate student at the University of Edinburgh. Because of financial pressures I had to accordion my studies into a shorter than usual period. Carrying a double load of classes was very demanding, and I was exhausted by the constant feeling of never quite measuring up. No matter how good my grades were, I thought they could be better. Sadly, I was not living the very truths I was studying. Although I could have told you that the Greek words for grace and joy are charis and chara, I was not experiencing them.
My beloved professor, Dr. James Stewart, that slightly built dynamo of a saint, saw into my soul with x-ray vision. One day in the corridor of New College he stopped me. He looked me in the eye intensely. Then he smiled warmly, took my coat lapels in his hands, drew me down to a few inches from his face, and said, “Dear boy, you are loved now!”
God loves us now, not when we get better. God loves us now, as we are.
Acceptance, Fathers, Grace, Joy
John 3:16; Rom. 5:8; 1-Peter 1:8; 1-John 4:7–10
Date used __________ Place ____________________
Used by permission of the publisher.
Jesus' Purpose (Vs. 11)
Jesus' Parable (Vs. 12-13)
Jesus' Point (Vs. 14)
In The Whisper Test, Mary Ann Bird writes:
I grew up knowing I was different, and I hated it. I was born with a cleft palate, and when I started school, my classmates made it clear to me how I looked to others: a little girl with a misshapen lip, crooked nose, lopsided teeth, and garbled speech.
When schoolmates asked, “What happened to your lip?” I’d tell them I’d fallen and cut it on a piece of glass. Somehow it seemed more acceptable to have suffered an accident than to have been born different. I was convinced that no one outside my family could love me.
There was, however, a teacher in the second grade that we all adored—Mrs. Leonard by name. She was short, round, happy—a sparkling lady.
Annually we had a hearing test …
Mrs. Leonard gave the test to everyone in the class, and finally it was my turn. I knew from past years that as we stood against the door and covered one ear, the teacher sitting at her desk would whisper something, and we would have to repeat it back—things like “The sky is blue” or “Do you have new shoes?” I waited there for those words that God must have put into her mouth, those seven words that changed my life. Mrs. Leonard said, in her whisper, “I wish you were my little girl.”
God says to every person deformed by sin, “I wish you were my son” or “I wish you were my daughter.”
Acceptance, Grace, Love of God, Mercy, Sin
Rom. 5:8; Eph. 2:1–5
Date used __________ Place ____________________
