What's more humbling than the fact that I failed is the fact that I needed those thirty minutes. I needed to be knocked down and find myself with skinned knees and a bruised chin, so desperately needy and out of control, and realize that even there I don't have much sense to me. I needed to be wildly shaken out of my state of everything-is-fine because when I cruise on through, I forget that I need Jesus. I forget the person I've been saved from being.
Perhaps even more humbling still is the realization that Jesus saw that moment coming. He knew I would spend half an hour on Monday, February 7th, 2011 throwing frustration and rage his way instead of trust and submission. He knew I would spend many such half hours before and after Monday, February 7th, 2011 doing that and worse. He knew that he would die for me, and change my heart, and go to the cross for me, and shed his love abroad in my heart - and then I would turn around and say right back, 'I wish you were still on that cross.' Again and again and again. And... he loved me. I didn't throw him for a loop with my behavior; he didn't have to rethink things and decide if he was going to let that one slide. The love that I have was given from all eternity in spite of and because of it. When I sin, I surprise only myself - and that surprise admits to yet another sin which was never hidden from the face of God: pride.
For half an hour on Monday, February 7th, 2011, I was angry. Those thirty minutes stand as a reminder to me: that's not who I am. That's why I need Jesus. He loved me while I still hated him. Sometimes I fumble - and sometimes I seem to fall headlong - into sin, but that's not who I am. My goodness is Christ; no goodness have I beyond you... The rest is playacting, pretending a dead ugliness is the living me.
I'm back up - not to my feet, but to my knees. I wish I hadn't had those thirty minutes; I wish I hadn't fallen. But... discipline, though painful for a little while, brings sweet fruit of repentance and godliness. Even my ugly sin is turned to a beautiful purpose; it pushes me fall on my skinned knees (ow!) and forces my stubborn, bruised chin to turn my silly face toward Christ. And if God is a God who makes ugly things beautiful, I guess that means there's hope for me too, huh?
Yet in all these things, we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us...
Thanks for the reminder, sis!
Christ already paid for everything you are, because He loves you, and has given you an inheritance of good works to walk in. His righteousness is yours; your work and your walk are part of his masterpiece, poem, new creation.
The older brother in me wants to demand that God acknowledge what I do, when in fact, he has made me everything I am. What a marvelous God!