To Those Who Falter

I have a mean penchant for donuts and anyone who knows me can attest to that. It wasn’t always that way, but somewhere along the last several years a mild preference grew into a near obsession. I chalk it up to the perfect chocolate cake donuts they sell at the shop next to my old job. They only offer those on the weekend and it became a Sunday ritual to pop over and buy a bag - always one more than I could actually eat, but I was convinced I needed exactly that many.

That is how I found myself this particular Saturday at that same shop’s sister store right by my parents’ house. I walked in and gazed at their library of flavors. I knew for certain I would be getting a sausage roll, but I’ve learned that I never eat as many donuts as I purchase, so I was doing the mental gymnastics required to figure out which flavor I really could live without this time.

It was in this state of unrest that the question found me.

“Are you a Leo?”

I looked up at the woman behind the counter. She was smiling excitedly and waiting for an answer. “Are you a Leo?” She asked again. I was thrown off, interrupted from my decision making, and unsure what on earth could have led her to such an assumption. I know next to nothing about astrology, but have always heard that Leos were strong people, so I was at the very least flattered, albeit confused.

“No, I’m a Cancer I think,” I told her. Cancer - it has to be the worst sign. There are no meme’s or quippy tweets about being that one, but maybe people just don’t want to be associated with a giant crustacean in the sky. I’ve never been very fond of it.

She smiled apologetically and pointed to the tattoo on my shoulder. “I thought maybe you had that lion because you were a Leo.”

I glanced down at my shoulder. It’s the only tattoo I have that has any color. A black and white Lion’s head with a chieftain’s crown propped against a canvas of sea foam green and lavender. It represents The Great I Am and His sovereignty and kingship. It also reminds me where my identity lies. There’s a reason it’s at the top of my arm, all other images and their meaning flowing down from that foundational piece. It might still be my favorite tattoo.

Even so, I smile a little awkwardly, and reply quickly - embarrassed “Oh, it actually represents God.” I gesture upward unceremoniously and look down as I say it. She smiles back and says “Oh, my brother is a Christian!” I smile back and say something flat like “That’s really cool.” I order my donuts, pay, and leave quickly while wishing her an extra big “Have a great day.” Trying to make up for my awkwardness and sound nice enough to make Christianity appealing as I exit.

I close my car door fast, hoping to shut out the shame I know is coming, but I’m not quick enough. The second I start the car, regret and frustration seep into my chest. I have said over and over again how much I want these tattoos to be a ministry tool, an opportunity to share the gospel and the Lord’s faithfulness to me. He handed me an opportunity on a golden platter and I punted it aside in fear.

Immediately I hear the words of Jesus in Matthew. “Whoever denies me before men, I will also deny him before my Father in heaven.”

As I drive out of the parking lot, I wrestle with the idea of turning around and going back to do it right, make my penitence by assaulting this woman with my botched attempts at explaining the gospel. Ultimately, I decide that could not possibly help, and I pray extra hard for forgiveness like a child pleading with their angry father, sure that if they just mean it enough, they will escape the consequence.

I have been thinking about that interaction for weeks, becoming convinced that I’m not qualified for the Kingdom any longer. Cognitively, I know the Lord doesn’t kick us out when we mess up, but Jesus’ words in Matthew clung to that memory like a sticker in the laundry. All the frayed residue stuck to each layer of that moment. If I refuse to lead someone to the door of eternity, why should it open for me?

This morning I found myself at the end of John. I came to the part after the resurrection where Jesus is sitting with Peter.

“Simon Peter, do you love me?”

He replies “Yes, Lord. You know that I love you.”

Three times they have that exchange, and by the last one, you can see Peters shoulders droop, his eyes grow dark, the corners of his mouth turn down in defeat. “Yes Lord, of course I love you.” I’m sure his mind was dragged back to that courtyard, reliving the moment he denied his beloved friend, savior, and king with the condemnation of that rooster’s crow burning like a fire in his gut. Don’t you know the shame he felt in the presence of that same man? Don’t you know how desperately he wanted to make it right, and how unworthy he felt?

And then Jesus, with all the love, compassion, and redemption He had inside of him, simply replied “Then feed my sheep.”

In those words, Jesus was saying so much. Peter, you are not disqualified from the kingdom. Peter, you are not fired from participating in my story. Peter, I will redeem that cowards cord in you and turn it into a bastion of boldness.

I sat for a moment listening to Jesus say these words to his beloved disciple and then turn and say them to me.

How gracious He is to reinstate us when we falter. We are all Peter at some point, given a golden opportunity to be faithful, and coming up miles short. And always the Lord looks kindly at us and says, “Get back up my son, I have work for you to do.” He dusts us off and he deconstructs that fearful string in us that shrinks away from obedience and courage. "For I have not given you a spirit of fear,” He whispers, "but of power, and love, and sound mind.”

So we stand back up on wobbly knees, knowing that we are being strengthened into more of His likeness, and that the invitation for kingdom work is forever being offered.