In 18 months, I’ll be 60. I’m old enough to know better, but I still use a four-letter word so frequently I don’t even know I’m saying it. Forgive me. When I pause to think about it, my misleading speech must make God wince, but it’s so ingrained in my thinking, my speech, my daily talk that I feel it nigh on impossible to stop.
In my weaker moments, I want to blame it on my family and friends. They all say it. My 89 year old mother still says it, as do missionaries, Sunday School teachers, evangelists and good Christians around the world. So what hope is there for me?
Frankly, when I do catch myself, I tend to move on, failing to apologize or repent. Gratefully, grace is at work and the Spirit still convicts.
The word is “mine.” I talk about the house in which I live, the lap top on which I write, the car I drive, the clothes I wear – as mine. Mine? Hardly.
Truth be told, I own nothing, but I’m constantly tempted to act as though I do. At best, I’m an undeserving manager, given charge – for a while – over little or much.
Guest Blogger: Randall E. Davey, President, accruWealth (www.accruWealth.com)