I collapse on the couch, completely overwhelmed by the day. It's not even noon yet, and I've already said words I regret, thought thoughts I shouldn't think, and given looks that negate any smile I might be able to plaster on my face. I feel somehow cheated by the world today. I knew I needed an early nap almost as soon as I got up, but my child's refusal to comply to this need has me playing the role of a martyr with all the animation I can muster.
The little nap boycotter is fussy - no surprise here. I can't handle it. My brain feels like it's going to explode from the high-pitched whine constantly being directed my way. What do you want me to do, child? I don't know what you want! I don't know how to fix this! Failure is a word that's being whispered into every thought, every action, every look. I believe that not only have I failed, but that I can only continue to fail. And so I make no effort to succeed.
I grudgingly reach over and pick my Bible off the shelf. What a joke, I laugh. Here, Lord! I've failed You in every sense of the word today, but, see? I'm still devoted! My hypocrisy is nauseating. My gut-instinct is to run away and wait for a moment when I'm feeling a little more, you know, spiritual. Because there will be one of those moments, right? Those moments where I'm good enough to talk to God? I'm sure that will come soon.
The heavy, gold-leafed book falls open on my lap. I stifle a sob. Something inside me has lurched into my chest. I feel my eyes welling up with tears. God, oh God! This is too much! Hide Your face from me. I can't bear Your gaze. The funny thing is, I haven't even begun to read. All the same, the reality of my sin has hit me like a massive wall of water. One simple question burns in a hole in my heart: Why do I run?
I feel like Eve. Naked and knowing it. Instantly separate from God and painfully aware of it. I am undone, whispers my soul. Oh, God, you have undone me. In what do I have confidence? My attempts at righteousness are like a putrid garment, stinking in the nostrils of the Most High God. I call myself a Christian, but fail miserably at living up to that standard. I can't be what I think I am. I must be mistaken. There is no way I can bear the name of the Saviour.
The pages of the word of God are turned in silent despair. I pass by the psalmist David, the prophet Ezekiel, the Saviour Jesus. My desire to read is nonexistent. The flapping stops suddenly at the book of Ephesians. I'm unwilling to comprehend anything, but my eyes glance down the page nonetheless. I see a lot of in Christ's underlined in the passage, a revelation I supposedly received ages ago and promptly forgot. I know not for what reason I have emphasized that simple, repeated phrase. Still, I read on. My half-hearted skimming comes to a stop when I stumble upon this verse:
For by grace you have been saved through faith: and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God; not by works, so that no one may boast (2:8-9).
And then it hits me: I'm not good enough. I can't be good enough. I WILL NEVER be good enough - except this time, the thought is not death. That's what God's been saying all along, through His word, through my despair, through His Son.
You're saved by grace, Andrea, not by what you do. It is by my merit that I call you my own. You run and hide because you've sinned, but I want you to come to me. I want you to throw yourself fully on my grace and know that, yes, Jesus did indeed pay it all. You don't owe your all to me in order to earn that grace. On the contrary, because I have pardoned you, your all to me you will give.
The Law came and, although it was perfect, brought only death. Man could not comprehend the attitude and purpose behind the Law and used it only as a means of reaching heaven. Jesus Christ brought grace and truth to the Law. He kept the Law - every facet of it - and instead of keeping that for his own, He has imputed that righteousness to every person that has understanding of his sin and throws himself completely on His grace for salvation. The truth is that only God's grace can save us. It is a gift that only He gives.
In my desire to run away from God when I felt "not good enough", I was not living by grace. I was entrapping myself in the old "doing good = receiving good" cycle. In that attitude, my failure would lead only to death. But I praise God from the very depths of my being for pointing me, once again, to His grace. I praise Him for forgiving me for the mess I've made of the morning and the lack of love I've shown my child. I praise Him and weep at the thought of Him hanging on the cross for my sins. How many times must I come to this realization? It seems it must be almost a daily occurrence. My sin nature is still ever-present within me, tempting me to trust in myself to "make it".
In writing this very personal account, I pray that you may also experience the freedom of God's grace. Only He can give it, and you must see your own fallen state before you realize that grace is the only thing that saves. I pray that you will know what it means to be truly forgiven.
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