God is good. It’s one those things that I hear a lot. I even say it a lot. But I’m learning that I don’t really believe it. My unbelief crops up a million ways, each one more insidious and deep-rooted than the last.
I’m not going to go into detail, but recently I was very specifically convicted about some things. I knew exactly what I needed to do. I didn’t want to do them, but I did anyway. Yay me! I thought it was very holy of me to follow the prompting of the Spirit, even though I was, honestly, pissed about it. Jesus, you’re welcome. Where’s the problem?
The problem is that I was totally missing the whole point. God is good. If I believed that, I would have gone to Him. I would have asked Him why I needed to do those things. I would have trusted that He had a reason other than “because I say so.” My God knows me. My God loves me. Anything He asks me to do, He asks because it’s the best thing for me. Obedience to Him is my highest pleasure, not because I’m holy for obeying Him, but because the things He calls me to are glorious.
Obeying with an attitude prompted the question: Why? If it’s not to bring me joy, what is my motivation? My response to that exposed an ugliness in my heart that I did not expect. I obeyed because if I didn’t, I knew I could no longer make any claim to being righteous. I obeyed to maintain an image of myself as “good.”
Ultimately, my attitude revealed a false view of God. I was seeing him as a judge. He was looking at me, evaluating my deeds, deciding if I was worthy to be his kid or not. This is so wrong! How could I think that? This is my God. My God, who humbled himself to live life as a human being. My God, who endured being mocked, taken advantage of, murdered. My God, who never had a selfish thought in His life. He did it all for love of me.
For 25 years I lived my life trying to be my own righteousness. My view of myself swung as widely as my moods. I looked to my emotions, my deeds, and others’ opinions to determine if I was “good enough.” And all the time, there was Jesus standing right there offering me Himself. Whispering so sweetly that I didn’t have to try so hard any more.
This time, Lord, when you convicted me, I blew it. Thank you that Jesus’ sacrifice is enough to cover that, too. When I get to heaven, if I am asked why they should let me in, I will never be able to say, “Well, you know, I was just so perfect and obedient.” The only answer I will ever be able to give is, “Ummm, Jesus said I could be here.”
