A Beautiful Mess

And when You call my name

Never let me turn my back

We have skilled ourselves in the art of faking peace, projecting an image of tranquility when in reality there is a war going on inside of us. We know our own strength will at least get us somewhere, far enough until the pool runs dry. The tank is empty and so are we, wondering why we let our pride get the best of us this time.

We shut Him out without even knowing it sometimes, thinking we can ignore Him and reap the benefits of His presence, while clinging to our selfish priorities. We turn off one switch at a time and gradually the life grows darker, then before we can say we didn't mean it, we're tripping over traps we set for ourselves in the dark. And all it takes is one whisper, one sincere cry of repentance, but it takes us so long to realize we have sinned.

"Just tell me what I've done! Show me how I've sinned so that I can feel you again!"

"Pride." He says this softly and we pretend we didn't hear it. Pride? That doesn't count, does it? There must be something else. That's all too simple for us to accept.

The truth is, pride isn't simple, it's serious. It's not harmless, it's disgusting. We see it as a means of self-reliance, when in reality it's the road to self-destruction. God loves a broken and contrite heart, a heart that knows it needs. A heart that is sorry and ashamed, tired and aware. That's the kind of heart that God wants us to bring Him when we ask for forgiveness. All too often we bring puffed up hearts, masked with layers of "I'm sorry's" that are anything but sincere. He see's it all, who are we kidding? He see's that heart that says "I'm sorry if I did anything," and grieves at the very sight of it.

So if we know that He will never tire of a broken heart, why do we try so hard to piece it together ourselves, handing Him a mess that says it's clean? He see's through that nonsense, we're only fooling ourselves. He wants our broken hearts, because He loves enough to heal. He wants our ugly mess, because in His eyes that is humility, that is beauty.

Whiter Than Snow

"Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; 

Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow."

~Psalm 51:7

It's dark, this feeling of remorse. I know that there isn't anything I can do to rid myself of it. No matter how many times I exercise my own strength, its still not enough.

I walk through the house, pulling doors shut and covering the windows with any sheet or board that I can get my hands on. I don't want You to see me like this, so I think that running from You is my only solution. The truth is though, it has only grown worse with time. I trip over everything unknown, because I've closed out all the light. I can't feel You with me, because I've locked You out. All that I can think to do is give up, give up on everything. I sink to the floor and bury my face in my hands, hoping You won't see my shame, but knowing all the while that You do.

You're the only one here in these moments, speaking to me even when I choose not to listen. No one else see's these dark moments, because covering the windows has blinded their eyes from all that is going on. Closing the doors has kept them out, but I know that I can never keep You out. No door is too thick and no thorn is too sharp to scare You away.

I just don't understand it and I doubt that I ever will. Why would You care for someone like me? After all I've done and all I continue to do, it doesn't make sense.
I thought that I had reached the point of no return, ran too fast and too far, but looking down I see it now, that You've been holding my hand all along. I thought I lost You, but it was me who was lost. When I ask to be clean You do not turn away. You wash me again and I can't help but marvel at the kindness of Your heart.