Some memories are picture clear. It is a day in late October and we are traveling in the van with my in laws to the Aransas wildlife refuge. I am attempting to school a known pedophile on the need for repentance.
We have reported the abuse. We lock doors at night to make the children feel safer. We are waiting and terribly broken.
The pedophile is merely annoyed. Sullen. We are discussing the human heart as though it were a house. A house Jesus could walk through, clean, excavate.
I remember this whenever I read
Mark 3:25-30 (NIV)
If a house is divided against itself, that house cannot stand.  And if Satan opposes himself and is divided, he cannot stand; his end has come.  In fact, no one can enter a strong man’s house and carry off his possessions unless he first ties up the strong man. Then he can rob his house.  I tell you the truth, all the sins and blasphemies of men will be forgiven them.  But whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit will never be forgiven; he is guilty of an eternal sin.”  He said this because they were saying, “He has an evil spirit.”
… because Charles is the one who taught me…about the strong man’s house.
This parable can and will go either way. Either the strong man is hell plundered by Jesus or He is the strong man robbed on the cross.
Which is it?
You can guess my opinion. I put my money on Jesus.
But for years I lived in that divided house, torn by my adopted children’s violence and anger.
Don’t wanna go back. Don’t wanna live that way no more.
Divided house; broken heart.