It’s funny… well, maybe not funny. More like odd.
I keep telling God how weak I am and how I can’t do anything right and how much sin is still left and all of that.
And He’s like, that’s the point.
Grace isn’t about me. It’s about Him, doing it all. It’s about me, imperfect, weak, stumbling me, being cleansed and used gloriously by Him. It’s about Christ in me, and I in Him. It’s about emptying myself of everything, good and bad, and letting the Holy Spirit take over.
Why don’t I just do it? Why don’t I just let Him live through me all the time?
Sometimes I do–I remember one time on the J127 trip when we were going to redo a yard with a bunch of other people. It was a complete mess. And I remember saying to God, okay, if this is what you want Your hands and feet to do, this is what they will do. And I had an amazing time. I worked HARD for 7 plus hours–so much so that at least three people complimented me on being a hard worker. (This may possibly have stemmed from their surprise that a girl wearing a skirt and what looked like dress shoes could carry 40 lb stones and rip out roots and such. Ahem.) But it wasn’t me, not really. I’m really not a hard worker. I’m actually quite lazy, by default. And it was so wonderful to be used by God like that. Sure, I still got really dirty and sore–but it was such a blessing at the same time.
And I wish that was how it always is–but it just isn’t like that. Why not?
Pride. Stupid, ugly, destructive pride. If it’s all Him, then it’s none of me. I don’t get any credit, I don’t get any glory. If it’s all grace and not works that earn salvation–if it’s surrender to God and letting Him fight through and for me and not even having my own sword (David didn’t)–if it’s all Him living through me and not me living for Him–then it’s all Him and I can’t get any praise.
But I don’t even want praise, not really. I know He deserves it all, and I deserve none. Not of myself.
Sure, He made me and He made good things in me–but I use them wrongly, when it’s me in charge. When the gifts aren’t surrendered and I try to wield that too-big sword on my own, I just muddle everything. And I know that. So I surrender, time and time again. Or at least I try. I try really hard.
But it’s still so hard.
Or is it?
Maybe I just make it hard. Maybe it’s not about trying. Maybe it really is just faith–believing that He really means it when He says that He is in us and we are in Him. Maybe it isn’t about trying hard to surrender–maybe it’s about believing that He will take and keep what I have given to Him. Maybe it’s about trusting that I died and now Christ lives in me.
Oh, Lord, I believe–please help my unbelief.