The only people who can believe in a God who says “Bury yourself” are the people who know they deserve to die.
He tells us to die and be made new, and I forget it’s a daily choice. I forget my cross carrying and start throwing myself a parade.
I was busy tossing candy at the commoners when someone poked a hole in my pride. Unnatural things took place. Fountain sodas flew, and so did car keys. Soon it was plastic gun, and a small voice saying, “I’m throwing things because I don’t like what you said. Mommy taught me.”
Mommies teach a lot of things.
He looks at me and asks me to promise, but promise is a glass word, easily broken, and I’m tired of breaking things. I close my eyes when he tells me he loves me. He tells me that I need to have grace and forgiveness for myself.
But, it seems easier to take my shredded pride and ride off into the sunset. I keep my eyes closed.
He tells me that the best thing would be for me to apologize to the boys, make them breakfast, show their daddy love. I’ve already shown them ugly, but what comes after sin?
It’s too hard. I rock the baby and mourn my shattered self image. I thought I was doing better. I thought I was better. He comes to me again and tells me that he doesn’t understand it. He’s been on the outside, and he’s seen the Christians, and they hide. He doesn’t understand why they don’t come out and say, “I’m sorry” and make it better.
I understand. It’s because we think we are supposed to be better. But really? We are supposed to be dead.
It’s morning and I open my eyes to the sunshine and I do the hard thing: I live like I’ve been forgiven.
O to grace how great a debtor, daily I’m constrained to be…
“Jesus came to cancel that written code that was against us and stood opposed to us; took it away, nailing it to the cross.” –Col. 2:14