Honesty is an unpleasant experience. Casting aside my self-made man and comparing myself to Jesus' weights and measures leaves me devastated. I'm not as holy as I thought I was, I don't have it all together like I think I do. Truthfully, I am a failure who puts detestable things above God. I cannot be trusted. Honesty is uncomfortable, but critical. The irony in this is that honesty brings freedom.
If God was anything less than perfect, he would have given up on me long ago. I have never been so disappointed in myself. But I have also never been more thankful to God. He wants me. He doesn't just tolerate me. He knows I can't handle myself. Spiritually, I am unlovable, unattractive, and undesirable. I don't say this faced with condemnation, but faced with truth. Here's another truth, God loves the unlovable, is attracted to the unattractive, and desires the undesirable (The Ragamuffin Gospel). I have trouble seeing God really wanting me. I see him more as one who is put out with me. My life tells me I define grace as tolerance, enduring, frustrated but stuck with me. That's why I use guilt and disappointment to lead me to repentance. And that is why I have trouble repenting. I stop at sorrow. I can't fathom the kindness and goodness of God leading me to repentance. I can't imagine a God who gives me a double portion of blessing in place of my sin. Thank God that he is not like me.
Honesty is uncomfortable, but critical. I am slowly realizing all the grace I have been missing.
"I am concerned with a certain way of looking at life, which was created in me by the fairy tales, but has since been meekly ratified by the mere facts."
"We have all read in scientific books, and, indeed, in all romances, the story of the man who has forgotten his name. This man walks about the streets and can see and appreciate everything; only he cannot remember who he is. Well, every man is that man in the story. Every man has forgotten who he is."
G.K. Chesterton
"We have all read in scientific books, and, indeed, in all romances, the story of the man who has forgotten his name. This man walks about the streets and can see and appreciate everything; only he cannot remember who he is. Well, every man is that man in the story. Every man has forgotten who he is."
G.K. Chesterton
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)