Not to ask is to remain in a place of self-sufficiency that cognitively concedes to my need for a Savior without fully seeing and understanding my desperate position without it.
One is a place of death and sorrow.
The other is a place of comfort and pleasure.
I have chosen the first and you have been faithful.
But I had no idea what I would see and now I lay here, face down, wondering how you can see all of this, in all of us, and not turn away.
Because I want to turn away.
I want to pretend I am who I thought I was. A sinner…but a sinner that had things pretty well cleaned up. A sinner that was graciously spared from serious sin which, I guess, made me more comfortable with your love.
But then I asked. (Maybe even forgot that I asked.) But you answered.
And you cared enough to shake the solid ground around me. To reveal my weakness and insecurities and the faults in the ground I thought was stable. To allow my voice to be silenced, my security to be taken away and my salvation to seem impossible.
You cared enough to show me the darkness in my soul. To open my eyes to the truth that I am the person I never wanted to be….I always was.
To reveal the utter horror of the labels I should wear. Liar, murderer, thief, hypocrite, gossip, slanderer, jealous and greedy neighbor, idol-worshipper, adulterer, arrogant and insecure fake….name it….I should wear it.
And the mountain crumbled.
And I crumbled.
And the shallow faith of a believer that never knew the cost of her redemption crumbled into the dust.
But you are faithful and good. And you speak.
In fact…you sing.
With strength and power and life.
Because you know and have always known that this place of death and sorrow is exactly where your love and grace and salvation are truly understood.
And truly received.
Only in this place where I realize I am not only the cause of your sacrifice but the recipient of its outcome can I truly know your love? Only there can I truly know your hope.
Your incredible ability to accept the unacceptable.
To cleanse the stained and to restore the lost, lonely and confused.
The rubble that crushes becomes the very rubble that creates an altar of gratitude.
How can you see me, perfect and holy King of Kings.
How can you forgive me, your child who chose to walk in darkness?
How can you love me, Lamb of God?
It’s beyond my understanding.
But you do.
You know me.
You sing life over me.
You call me to obey.
And you open my eyes to this incredible, beautiful, long-suffering love that calls me out of darkness into your wonderful light.
And what more can I do but praise you with every breath I take?
“Oh, what joy for those whose disobedience is forgiven, whose sin is put out of sight! Yes, what joy for those whose record the LORD has cleared of guilt, whose lives are lived in complete honesty!” Psalms 32:1-2