I wrote the above verse from memory, having learned it as a child. Yet it came to life for the first time this morning.
Christ lived 33 years on this fallen earth, only to be tortured and killed, a seeming failure of all he had done. He had labored hard. He was a devoted child, a responsible young adult working as a carpenter, and then a traveling missionary and leader. It was the life that he lived in the flesh, and it seemed for naught when he died. Yet then, he lived.
I have lived a half century on this fallen earth, and have worked hard. I've been a devoted wife, a dedicated educator, and have spent years driving my kids to their commitments and classes. Some days, there is a sense of futility in all of it. Yet, I will live.
I will live, not by my own faith, which is weak and questioning. But I will live by the faith of the Son of God. Christ in me. His faith in me. His ability to live beyond the situations which meet the eye. He gave himself for me. His faith is in me. Lord, I believe. Help thou my unbelief.
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