I’m 6’3″ broad shouldered, big boned, look robust, solid, but with one blow I’d crash down like a redwood hewed by an Oregon lumberjack. My friend is 5’11” thin, rather frail looking. Most likely street thugs would attack him, leave me alone. Their mistake. A side kick to the throat, a roundhouse to the temple, and an elbow smash to the face from my black belt friend would reduce the thugs to steak tartare. He’s stronger, healthier, more athletic than me. Looks deceive. 

Likewise, the heart. I may speak words as soothing as gently falling rain, belt out a gospel hymn as mighty as rolling thunder, pray piously, quote scripture, but possess a vile, judgmental, jealous heart. Here’s a scary thought: I can fool myself. I serve in the Thanksgiving Food Line therefore I must be compassionate. I tithe, certainly I must be generous. I work with Habitat for Humanity ergo I must be a servant. But activity can’t whiten a black heart. 

In the last blog I wrote about deeds being more important than words. True, if our heart is loving. I try to remember to do a heart check from time to time. Am I doing this because my heart compels me? Am I doing that with a tender heart?