Jesus is not an accessory.

I've always been a fan of rockin out the Jesus fish. Some of that WWJD. And the Jesus cross. But it wasn't until today, while I was getting ready and trying to figure out whether my cross necklace went with my shirt or not, that I realized something: Jesus has become an accessory to me. He is no longer the meat and potatoes of my life. He's not even the salad. He's like the croutons you put on the salad. Dang. So is that really what it comes down to? Is that what I'm making of my Savior these days? A crouton?

It's only when I need Him that I really access Him.

Only when it's convenient for me that I decide to be with Him.

Our relationship is like one of those screwed up abusive type.

And I'm the abuser.

So when did it come to this?

How did it come to this?

I heard a song once by Derek Webb.

It's called "Wedding Dress".

And one part of the song says "I am a whore I do confess. I put you on just like a wedding dress. And I run down the aisle."

I must be a pretty skanky whore.

A no good slutty harlot type.

Because I keep putting Jesus on like a wedding dress.

Trying Him on again and again and again.

But I never really go through with the wedding.

You know?

That may not even really have made sense.....

But I know that I've been doing it.

And I just don't have as much trust in the Lord these days.

I betcha bottom dollar it's because I don't really have the best RELATIONSHIP with Him in the first place.

He's a crouton to me.....remember?

Sometimes I wonder how the Lord allows me to even be in His presence FACE DOWN. And breathing.

Sometimes I wonder if He will strike me dead. Or stop my breath. Or take the life right out of me.

Because I am so unworthy to be in His presence.

Jesus, I want to want to make you the center.

Now help me WANT to do it.

I love you.

I need you.

You are more than a cross necklace.

A WWJD bracelet.

A fish tattoo.

I can not keep You.

You will not be contained.

Let me live in this freedom that you so freely give.

P.S. I'm sorry I compared you to a crouton. Baddddddd simile on my part.

Forever His,

Rachel