Have you forgotten about me?

I'm tired.  Tired of struggling, tired of failing, tired of...me.  I am weak.  I keep falling.

My sin rallies around me--it is not tired.  It shows no signs of fatigue.  No, this enemy is strong and vicious.  My weakness is its reward, it's lifebreath.  It is ugly and remorseless and bent on my destruction.

I have fought the battle...and lost.

Again.

Given in to my selfish vanity and the lie that I should do whatever I want when I want. 
                             Hideous lies that I let myself believe.

But, this time...this time...I am broken.  The temptation-cum-reality sinks into my soul and my spirit is afraid and absolutely dejected.  I have to confess (again), but I don't want to see Him. 

Actually, I don't want Him to see me. 

The ugliness of my sin cloaks me, and I am wholly aware of how I must offend, anger, sadden Him.

I am a Believer.  I know His Son personally and have for years.  His Spirit dwells within me.  I should not hesitate to ask for forgiveness, but I do not want to enter His presence.

The forgiveness is mine.  The "clean slate" is mine if I ask for it.  He will not condemn. 

And yet I am so ashamed of myself and my unworthiness.

I debate about going to see Him now or waiting.  Maybe my transgression will lose some of its stain if I wait.  This is illogical, but I am distressed.

Then I hear, literally hear, a voice say, "Have you forgotten about me?" 

I know this voice--it is the voice of His Son.  My Brother.  He speaks softly, gently.  In my mind, I see this One standing between the Father, the Judge, and me.  He tells me that He will speak for me.

Plead my case.

I am guilty, but I have already been acquitted through the Son.

"I have not forgotten about You!" I cry.  "But why would You want to help me? 
            "Again?
                     "I have fallen, and I will fall again.  Don't I embarrass You?"

But, He is kind--He understands me and my plight.  He has seen this before.  He will see it again...and again...and again.  And not just in me.

He beckons, "Let's talk with Him together."  And so, we go in and we talk.  I am in right standing again.  Yet, I am human.  This will have to be done again.

My Brother reminds me that today is a new day. 

I can start fresh.  I can call for Him at the first sign of trial and temptation.

His Name alone can change the course of the battle. 

                          His Name alone can hide me from my enemy.

                                                   His Name alone can restore my reputation with our Father.

When He asked if I had forgotten about Him, I am honest enough to say that I almost had.  I thought I had to fight on my own, to face the consequences on my own.  I had believed these lies from the one who works to defeat me each day. 

But not today.  Today is a new day.

Treasures in tattered envelopes

Last weekend, my great aunt gave me some letters my dad wrote to her while he was in college. He was an avid letter writer in the days before the proliferation of cell phones and email and internet, which happened to be his entire 44-year lifetime.  In 1972, he hadn't met my mom, and our family was still several years from being formed.  I finally had the time to read the letters today.
Bittersweet.

He writes like I write...or rather, I write like he wrote.  The same words, the same phrasing.  It was like having him back for just a few minutes and finally understanding more about him...and more about me.

Yes, bittersweet.  I deeply miss him, but his letters tell of a life of great faith.

He was SOLD OUT for the Lord, which does not surprise me one bit.  I totally lost it when I read the names of men he led to the Lord and discipled while at Penn State--I didn't know there were so many--and he simply mentioned them so my aunt could pray for their spiritual growth and for his ministry.

Then, I found the letter where he illustrated the plan of salvation so that my dear, sweet, slightly timid aunt could show one of her friends to the Way of Life.  Verse after verse poured forth from his pen.  He was IN THE WORD, and it was effective.  I believe those words did not return void.

I know my dad better now than I did earlier today.  I found that we have a few favorite Scriptures in common--verses I didn't find in my own devotions until after he went Home.

He could never have guessed that his daughter would read his letters 40 years after they were written--and 17 years after his Homegoing--and find truth and identity there.

This was a gift, a precious gift.  And I am blessed.