I’ve been trying to climb your plumb line, O God, as if it is a measure of success or a ladder to security. When the wall showed signs of toppling, I leapt to the line to rise above it all. Forgive me.

When the locusts swarmed and the harvest was threatened before it could mature, O God, I clung to your plumb line as if it was an escape route. Perhaps it can be, but not with the ease I desire. Forgive me.

When the fire flashed and raged, when its heat consumed the seas, O God, I turned to your plumb line for shelter, wanting the weighted bob to carve a tent over my head for protection. Forgive me.

Your plumb line is a truth, not a wall; let me pray less to be found in your fortress than to be found in your grace.

Your plumb line is a threshing floor, not a barn; let me pray less for stored treasure than for a purified spirit.

Your plumb line is a hot sword, not a protective shield; let me pray less to be safe than to be faithful.

on Amos 7:1-9; cross-posted at RevGalBlogPals

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