During Mass yesterday, the priest repeatedly told us that “Jesus lives inside you.” I couldn’t help but think about what that must be like in my case.
If I were a house, I could imagine Him grappling with a constant flow of repair bills. There’s more square footage than the heating system can accommodate and the place is drafty as a result. The roof leaks constantly. The place is teeming with vermin.
Yet He continues to live there.
He patches the roof every time the water gets in. When wall frames and flooring threaten to give way, he replaces them with sturdier pieces of wood. And he calmly keeps doing these things no matter how many times the house seems on the verge of caving in.
That’s how I picture it, anyway.
I try hard to get life right. But I know I’m still a sinner, making the same mistakes repeatedly. If I were a house, I might be condemned. But Jesus won’t let the house go down. He refuses to let it give way.
I’m glad he’s inside of me. If he weren’t, I’d have been knocked down and cleared away along time ago. And because I know He’s so invested in my future, I’m going to keep doing my best to be a sturdy, safe house for those who need refuge from the storm.