A taste of grace

Sometimes I get stuck in this rut of thinking I have it all together. I start looking at my habits and choices and think that I'm doing alright. I sing the old hymns about Jesus' cleansing blood, but I don't sing them for me.They are for the ones who really need help. I get to a place where I don't see my need for forgiveness, and I brush aside Christ's sacrifice as worthless. I forget what the flavor of grace.

Then I spend some time at home.

I'm not sure if anyone can relate, but whenever I spend an extended period of time with my family, I'm vividly reminded of my imperfections. Around my family, I let my guard down, and my true self rears its head. My true self doesn't look nearly as nice as the self I give to the masses. It is much more selfish and rude and demanding. Quite ugly, actually. That self made a special guest appearance to Christmas break this year.

By the end of my break, I found myself immensely discouraged at my own ugliness. It seemed that every day I would wake up intending to be good. I would wake up planning to be kind and sweet and thoughtful, the perfect daughter/sister/granddaughter. But every day, I failed. No matter how pure my intentions, I wasn't good. And once I realized I wasn't, I felt so discouraged that I stopped trying. I hated the fact that I wasn't perfect.

The last Sunday of my break, I went to church feeling the weight of my imperfection. I stood with the others and sang along to the familiar tunes, not really meaning a word I said, until the worship leader began leading the final song. It was a song I've sung a hundred times, a song I've probably known since before I could read the age-old words: "Jesus Paid It All." As I began singing along, I ached in the pain of my mistakes. I told God, "I'm sorry that I'm not perfect." I think He smiled at me. He said, "I know. Listen to what you're singing. I took care of your imperfection."

Jesus paid it all. All to Him I owe.

And suddenly, I tasted grace.

I am not perfect, no matter how hard I try to make others believe I am. I cannot be. I am just as much a sinner as any other soul on this earth. My strength indeed is small. I am not good, but He is. Thank God, He is. I cannot ever deserve His forgiveness.

There's a verse in Romans that I once proudly presented to a friend who had questions about salvation by works. I realize now I need it more than she.

"And if by grace, then it is no longer by works; if it were, grace would no longer be grace." (Ro. 11: 6)