The Problem With Pockets

It’s been lots of states over a couple days and I’m feeling pretty spongy. Today I’m in a hotel in Lincoln, Nebraska. Playing here in town tonight. I’m looking forward to the people and time with Jesus. 
Last night in Omaha was great. Had some old friends drive a long away for the concert and it was wonderful to see them. I love the family of God. We come in all shapes, sizes, colors, and ages. We speak different languages. We wear different clothes. We worship in all kinds of ways. And yet, there’s such a joy of community with Jesus in the center. Jesus said the world would know we were His by our love for one another. I’m happy to be a part of that. I pray we’ll live up to it.
 
Over the last one million seventy-three miles I’ve driven in the last two days, I’ve been thinking about pockets. I’m emptying mine. Too many things shoved down in there that I don’t need. The old wounds and hard memories. Big things. Heavy things. After a while it gets hard to walk. Those tough, bitter stones that sink us straight to the bottom of our self-created hell. Have you been shot at? Maybe you knocked out the windowpane with the butt of your rifle and shot back? Have you been kicked into the dust then kicked some more? It happens in this imperfect world filled with imperfect people. Jesus said we’d catch a roundhouse once in a while. Sometimes we see the punch coming while our hands are tied behind our backs. It gets so frustrating. Then we have to decide what to do with the pain. God’s answer is simple—give it to Him. Lay it at the foot of the cross. Hey, Buck, drop the pistol.
 
Here I am. Emptying my big pockets of hard lumps of black. Some of them handled so often they’ve worn to a shine. There’s a great Bob Dylan line—Surrender your crown on this blood stained ground, and take off your mask. He sees your deeds, and He knows your needs even before you ask. I’m no mystery to God. I’m transparent as glass. There’s a great freedom in that. I’ll just come with all of it, turn my pockets out and ask Him to take all the trash. I’m tired.
 
I imagine a face to face with Jesus. I’d plead my case. Show Him the bruises. Talk about all the miles and dreams and dust. The churches and the bars and the broken. Man, it would be a long story. I know He could tell me to get over myself. Talk about His own very real suffering. But that’s not the Father’s heart. In the end I think He’d simply smile and say, “I love you. Be born again.” He has a way of getting straight to the heart of the matter.
 
Let me be free. Let me be clean. Let every day be the end of me—the beginning of Him.  
 
So I’m emptying my pockets of all the stones I’ve collected along the road. And I’m filling those same pockets up again to overflowing with the limitless love of God.
 
And here’s the incredible part—Love doesn’t weigh anything.
 
Fair winds,
Buck
 

2 comments

  • Davalynn Spencer

    Davalynn Spencer

    Yes, it is only Jesus. For how else can you bear to visit your husband in a nursing home and hear him tell you he misses your presence? And then go home without him.

    Yes, it is only Jesus. For how else can you bear to visit your husband in a nursing home and hear him tell you he misses your presence? And then go home without him.

  • Buck Storm

    Buck Storm

    Davalynn - I can't imagine. So sorry. My family will be praying Jesus continues to minister peace to you. Peace in Jesus, Buck

    Davalynn - I can't imagine. So sorry. My family will be praying Jesus continues to minister peace to you.

    Peace in Jesus,
    Buck

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