So before I get to what I am going to share with you tonight, I thought I would explain why Thursday is Overblessified day. The word started its origins back in Missippippi about four years ago. I was on mission trip with TFC, and God just kept loving on us. Wonderful food, a nice place to sleep and patience when things didn't always go as planned. We came up with the word overblessified to explain what God was doing for us. And the more we looked for God, the more and more we saw him. SO I thought I would dedicate this day on my blog to just being blessed. The topics might range from old thoughts to what God is teaching me today. So I hope you enjoy, and if nothing else, I get to write about it, probably my favorite way to think about things.

These thoughts take me back about a year.

Lugging pail after pail from the well during the hottest part of the day made this woman exhausted, but at least no one was pointing and gawking at her. It was too scorching for any other travelers to bother her. Then came a man. This man acted unlike others she knew. He talked to her in a kind voice, and he spoke with wisdom. As the words flowed from his mouth, she heard him say he was the Messiah. Astonished, she ran back to the city and brought back many to the well. As I followed along at Bible Study, my heart was convicted. Not like a burn from eating my pizza too fast, but a burn coming from something or someone unseen. A pretty simple story, only 42 verses, sunk deep into my gut and reminded me how little I show Christ’s love.

I’m a Christian, but I am not always shouting it from the rooftops. More often, I am quietly talking with a group of believers in the basement of Ellsworth, hidden in a corner. Not a real witness to Christ. I feel the guilt of knowing I can do more but don’t. I find myself wallowing in my lack of self-confidence, covering up my beliefs with embarrassment and fear.

Then I go to Bible study. The three girls crouched in their chairs, learning straight from the Bible encourage me. In that place of security, I am able to express my failures, of which I have many. But the greatest part is they still love me. They don’t care if I am lazy or selfish. They care more about what Christ did on the cross. He already paid for all my screw-ups. Forever. Just like the women at the well. Sure, she was an outcast in her society, but in God’s kingdom she was worth every second of Jesus’ time. I want to spread that same love I receive.

Photo: Cross in a cemetery up by a church in Florence, Italy, by Brenna Malmberg.