You counsel me to succumb, give up, pack it in convinced that dreams are simply folly.  You’ve seen me before it appears.  You know the familiar ease with which I slink away from danger, seeking the path of least conflict, resistance and absent glory.  Evidence of self motivation.  Yes, it is never sweet this moment of capitulation, but it saves me having to write home of greater failure.  This is the voice of my own flesh, that inevitably directs me to the shortened and assured glory of escape to the satisfaction of my latest addictive sin.  The mobius venture of a man without purpose, seeking to just do it, knowing but hoping that this time the euphoria will last, forfeiting forever the obligation to try.

What then am I, if a man condemned to perpetual resignation in avoidance of eventual failure?  Where is the courage I learned of in the books we read as children?  Was it simply an idea, a fantasy or maybe something only given to them who would be heroes?  Selectively distributed to men made of steel and me of clay.  Does that comfort my spirit in a knowledge that I shouldn’t be concerned for I was never meant to amount to anything anyway?  Is that why they tell us as children we will likely never succeed, to prepare us for the slow comfortable numbness associated with realization of a life meant inclined to continual and successive losses?  Have I been convinced in my hopelessness or is this the truth of deceptive reasoning?

The answer is found firmly seated within my failures.  For in them I am invited, nay acquainted with the need for assistance.  It has been my blessing this inclination toward failure, quitting and resignation as it brought me to the inevitable sensibility associated with needing God’s intervention or suffering miserably for the duration of my existence.  You see, I was the man of perpetual successes, the best at whatever endeavor I challenged, but thankfully, mercifully, my God, my Father, my Friend allowed my string of lucky, arduous or talented wins to sour, leaving me floundering upon a beach of desperation where a kind fisher of men saved me from near demise.  Since, even my individual successes taste bitter unless enveloped in the fulfillment of His Purpose.  Now, even my failures taste of candy as they somehow uncannily end up as successes for His Glory.

My courage is no longer my own, my sin no longer a place of succor for fear of failure, because there is no failure in service for God.  I am free of the whispering reminders of flesh and fallen, because my lack of qualification, proper breeding, wealth, education or public suitability have no gravity in eternal construct.  I am free to simply stand in the knowledge that in so doing, God and subsequently I will always be successful.  My success no longer requires my own or public definition/recognition, it doesn’t even matter how I felt about the circumstances for God will have His victory in my obedience to purpose.  That is freedom.  I simply must love Him enough to obey and let the proverbial chips fall wherever He deems suitable, comfortable in the certainty of His Victory without regard for my failure or success at performance.  The whispers have themselves found desperation falling now upon the ears of an unwilling recipient, not by resistance but by the unavoidable logic and Truth.

I have found courage in faith, God’s Faithfulness.  He has already overcome this world and everything in it then so by relation so have I.  My willingness to stand in this knowledge commits me to continual success for God’s Good Purpose and Glory.  His name be praised in the Mighty, Living Worship of Jesus Christ the King.