“THERE IS NO DESERVING”
Last night, I had a break through that I now get to live out. While hanging up Sharon’s clothes in her closet, I was confessing to God and to myself—not for the first time—that I most certainly did not deserve such a wonderful woman. Never did, never would.
And then, I thought of Jesus and of God’s grace, which I have not deserved either. Never did, never would, never could.
I began to cry. I had “believed” these things at some level for decades, but I hadn’t really believed them, hadn’t been grateful enough, hadn’t lived as a believer.
So, now I need to decide how to live and to live out this undeserved grace—the grace of God that includes both Jesus and Sharon, our children, our grandchildren, and everything in the universe. And having decided, I need to continue to decide. With mind, and will, and heart, and passion, and deeds, I will decide.
So, after about four hours of sleep, I awake. Can’t get back to sleep. I get up, make myself a cup of coffee, and begin listening to Bread on You Tube.
A phrase from an old poem comes to mind: Just a phrase and the general tenor of the poem. The phrase “a guest worthy” was the phrase. Undeserved grace and love was the theme.
So, while listening to Bread, I google those words, and discover that the poem is by George Herbert, and the poem is entitled, “Love, III.”
I look at a collection of poetry by Louis Untermeyer, trying to find the poem, which I am pretty sure is in the book. I turned directly to page 410, which is the first page of the section on George Herbert and his poetry. Life is full of coincidences that aren’t.
Here is the poem:
Love bade me welcome. Yet my soul drew back
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,
If I lacked any thing.
A guest, I answered, worthy to be here:
Love said, You shall be he.
I the unkind, ungrateful? Ah my dear,
I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
Who made the eyes but I?
Truth Lord, but I have marred them: let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.
And know you not, says Love, who bore the blame?
My dear, then I will serve.
You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat:
So I did sit and eat.
(https://www.poetryfoundation.org/resources/learning/core-poems/detail/44367, accessed 12-04-2016).
I am no George Herbert. Not in holiness, not in my writing, not in any way that matters. But I do think I understand his heart, at least a little.
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