Sometimes I forget it really was indeed finished on the cross.
I put myself on trial and agree to be cross-examined by the greatest accuser ever known.
When I’m well-rested and not overscheduled and don’t feel like I have ten people talking to me at the same time, I do alright.
But when I’m tired, too busy to even breathe, and overwhelmed by the voices that are supposed to bring me the most joy, I begin to hear his accusations again, loud and clear.
You shouldn’t have children. They’ll be in therapy for all of their adult lives. No one likes you. You are a fake, a phony. You don’t walk the talk.
There are several he likes to pull out of his bag of tricks.
But here’s the thing: I probably shouldn’t have children. If perfection is the standard for being a mom, then none of us should. We will fail them in some way at some point. It’s called being human.
There are people who don’t like me. There are people who don’t like you. That’s their choice and prerogative. Not everyone is going to like us. Period.
As for not walking the talk, I don’t. That’s for darn sure. I am one imperfect sinner in need of a Savior.
So the trouble is not with the law, for it is spiritual and good. The trouble is with me, for I am all too human, a slave to sin. I don’t really understand myself, for I want to do what is right, but I don’t do it. Instead, I do what I hate. But if I know that what I am doing is wrong, this shows that I agree that the law is good. So I am not the one doing wrong; it is sin living in me that does it.
And I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. I want to do what is right, but I can’t. I want to do what is good, but I don’t. I don’t want to do what is wrong, but I do it anyway. But if I do what I don’t want to do, I am not really the one doing wrong; it is sin living in me that does it. – Romans 7:14-21 (NLT)
Perhaps I’m not the only one who’s ever had this struggle. I guess others might have said Paul wasn’t walking the talk, either.
It’s a good thing we’re a new creation. It’s a good thing we receive new mercies each day. Each moment.
It’s a good thing we’ve been washed by the water.
Even when we’re on trial.
And if He can forgive me, surely I can forgive myself.
Silence, accuser. The gavel pounds.