Prodigal

I've sat here, looking at this blank screen, trying to figure out a way to get out all the thoughts in my head and heart without actually saying anything about what I'm actually struggling with.

That's pretty hard, yo.

Because I need to get it out but at the same time there is just no way I can open myself up and be so laid bare and vulnerable. I'd die. So I just sit and puddle in it.

Wading around in the muck is not good for anyone. It's stagnant and stinky and it's bad for my frizzy hair.

But let me say this: Sometimes, being a Christian is more than just a joy. Sometimes it scares the hell out of me. It's a sacred responsibility. You aren't supposed to be your own anymore, you're supposed to be His ambassador. So when you screw up, there's always this fear that you're making Him look bad. And maybe that's why so many Christians sin in secret, because they don't want the whole freaking world to think they are fakes or phonies or that none of it is even real.

Yeah. That's a huge burden for these small shoulders.

I know Jesus is the guy who forgave the woman caught in adultery, that He looked on her with compassion and love. But He is also the guy who told her to go and sin no more.

So what can I say for myself when I sin over and over and over? And even when I refrain from actually sinning, I think about it and obsess over it and yearn for it and isn't that pretty much just as bad? Didn't Jesus say hate was the same as murder and lust the same as adultery? It's all about the heart, right?

Well my heart is divided, split right down the messy middle. And I guess I am just finally at the place in my life where I am honest enough to admit it, to look at myself for what I really am, and to throw myself at His mercy, hoping He has held out some small shred of grace for me, as jacked up as I am.

I hate cliches. I hate Christianese and religious bumper stickers. I hate when people say they aren't perfect, just forgiven. Because it always strikes me as a great big excuse to be a jerk, to not care if the things you do offend God or others. I've always shied away from the idea of grace, which means unmerited favor, beacuse, well... because I don't deserve it. I know, that makes no sense since the very definition points to the fact it can't be earned.

I feel like sin is not just something I have done, it is who I am. I am a sinner, therefore I sin. I'm an addict. I'm a sin junkie. I go to Bible studies and church services like support meetings and I do great for a while and then I fall off the wagon, over and over.

I've just gotten to the point where I am completely sick of myself, and I realize that unless He changes me, I have no hope.

I know some of my readers aren't Christians and you're here because you are my family and friends and you love me even though I'm a little too religious and intense from time to time. Thank you for that. I know before I was a Christian I used to read this kind of stuff and be completely turned off. I used to think that religion, Christianity, Jesus... I used to think it was all a crutch for people who were too weak minded or jacked up to latch onto to try to get it together.

You know what? That's really pretty true.

I'm pretty jacked up. Aren't we all, really, in some way or another? I guess Christians are just people who can admit that really well. We've come to grips with the fact that we are screw ups, and that we need help from Someone a lot bigger than us.

All those holier-than-thou folks that turn their noses down at sinner-types? They aren't the real deal. They're what Jesus called hypocrites. He also called them snakes, white-washed tombs full of death and rotted bones. He wasn't real popular with the religious elite, but we run-of-the-mill sinners? We're crazy about Him.

This was meant to be a confession of sorts. I'm not perfect. You  may not have known that till now, but it's true. {wink}

I'm a sinner. And I'm not even going to pretend otherwise. My shoulders aren't broad enough to carry the weight of perfection and I'm too scared of heights to be up on any kind of religious pedestal.

The only place this girl belongs is down on her face, at the feet of Jesus.

I'm the prodigal, on the road back home, wondering if He will just let me be a servant in His home, thinking out all the words I need to say to convince Him... and craning my neck to see if He is waiting for me, willing to throw His arms open and run out to meet me.

Pray with me, for me, about me? Please. And thank you.

amy danielle