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Tag: God

Grace

Grace.

We say it before meals. A ballerina has it. A girl is named it. It’s a noun. It’s a verbthe king will grace us with his presence. And it’s a word sprinkled throughout the New Testament.

What is it really?

The best definition I’ve found for grace is unmerited favor.

Unmerited: unearned, not worked for, not deserved in any way.

Favor: excessive kindness or unfair partiality; preferential treatment.

This is what God extends toward us. And so many of us, having sung songs like Amazing Grace hundreds of times and having heard dozens of sermons on the topic, are desensitized to just how utterly, amazingly, mind-boggling this is. We’ve heard this all our lives. So we tune out. We disregard the subject as being basic. Let’s get to the more challenging stuff, right?

Truth is, we’ve barely grasped the fringe of it. Oftentimes the basics are the deepest, most profound parts of our faithelements that take a lifetime and more to truly dig into.

Graceunmerited favoris what grew inside a teenaged girl’s womb.

Grace is what walked the planet, confining God to the limits of human skin.

Grace is what touched untouchable lepers.

Grace is what fed thousands of people who, not long after, would desert the One who fed them.

Grace is what turned itself over to be crucified on a Roman cross.

Grace is what looks at you, in all the dirt of your failings and the scars of your wrongs, and smiles and says, “You are flawless.”

We have watered down this concept of grace. It’s too good to be true, so we add our own “truth” to it. We say there’s grace for the sinner, and after that? Well, you’d better work for it. God gives you a slice of grace when you choose to follow Him, and then you must tread carefully, so as not to use it all up. Because there’s only so and so much of it. If you go too far (and we all draw different lines of what that is), if you make too many mistakes, or too large of a mistake . . . You’d best hope there’s enough mercy left for you.

It sounds ludicrous to say it so bluntly. But many of us, without realizing, think this way. And in so doing, we scoff at a grace so dearly bought, and say, “It’s not enough.”

“It’s not enough. Jesus’ work on the cross is not really a finished work; surely I must add something to it. Surely there’s an if or a when attached.”

But grace is not a well, able to dry up after so much use. Grace is a waterfall, an unending supply of lavish kindness that is completely undeserved.

Expecting parents couldn’t be more excited for their coming child. They prepare a nursery, buy clothes and toys and blankets, read books on how to care for it. And when the baby arrives, oh, the joy! This baby keeps them up at night, soils its diapers, spits up on things, wails to high heaven, and generally does nothing at all to deserve any love. And yet those parents would give their very lives for their child.

That’s the kind of love, the kind of grace, God has toward you and me. We’ve done absolutely nothing to earn it. How could we? Even if we lived to the very best of our ability, put in our highest effort, how could any of it even tip the scales toward an even balance? How could it even begin to match the weight of grace? To even try is to negate its very meaning.

And that baby? When it starts learning to walk, only to fall down again and again? Mom and Dad don’t scold it. They don’t smack it upside the head and say, “Why can’t you learn to walk straight without tripping? Get it together!” No, they cheer their child on. “You can do it! Come on, that’s it. Look at youyou’re doing so well!”

When we fall, our Father picks us up and cheers us on. In fact, it’s that grace that enables and empowers us to learn to walk.

Let’s rediscover the meaning of grace, my friends.

To the Perfectionists

Dear Perfectionist,

I have something to tell you, and by extension, something to tell myself. You have many faces and many forms, and so I write this to:

  • the neat-freak who cannot stand a molecule of dust out of place
  • the perfectionist in disguise whose desk is in chaos but whose personal standards are sky high
  • the one who puts in countless hours in an effort to achieve the perfect ____ (fill in the blank: musical skill, writing abilities, sports performance, test scores, etc.)
  • the one who expects everyone else to hold the same high standards
  • the one who extends grace to everyone but themselves
  • and the one who’s given up because they’ve failed too many times

You are a slave. You are chained to an ideal, a cruel master impossible to please. Day after day you strive to reach perfection. Or maybe you don’t even call it that. Maybe in your mind, Perfect is known as Better. Whatever its name, you chase it relentlessly, but somehow it always eludes you.

You likely don’t chase it in every area of life. Maybe you seek it in performance, but you’re perfectly all right with a messy room. Maybe you seek it in your outer world–everything in its place–but less so in your inner world, where you give yourself room for mistakes. And quite likely it’s an even more intricate paradox than that–your bookshelf might be organized alphabetically but your closet looks like a tornado hit it. You may hold strictly to an academic standard, yet not so much in physical fitness. There are infinite combinations, but if this letter is to you, there is at least one area in which you are enslaved.

Can I tell you something? I’m a perfectionist in disguise. My room is sometimes a group of little contained messes, with semi-organized piles of papers and books and things that belong together in some abstract way that only makes sense to me.

I think it should be cleaner.

When I sit down to write, I’m mostly okay with clumsy sentences, scrambled plots, and misbehaving characters in a first draft.

But I think I should write more, or faster.

Do I chase a state of perfection? Maybe. I don’t know. But I do know I chase progress. Because progress means movement towards perfection, or if not that, betterment. If I wake up intending to get some good writing done, and I go to bed at night having written nothing because life got in the way, I don’t like it. If I look at an area of my life and see no growth, it bothers me. Am I growing spiritually? Am I progressing as a writer? Am I getting better at my job? Are my relationships doing well? If the answer is ever no, that must mean “try harder.”

Those are the chains I struggle to break. Yours may look different.

This slavery is sneaky. It’s not constant misery. Sometimes you do achieve something you’re happy with (at least somewhat), and so there’s a measure of success, of satisfaction. It’s a carrot dangling in front of your nose, a taste of the glory you’ll feel when you finally reach that perfection in full. But when you stumble, your own whip comes whistling down to tear your back.

You could have done better.
You should have done more.
You shouldn’t have said that.
You failed.

Bleeding, you drag yourself up and try again. The worst part about this enslavement is that most of the time, you’re not aware. You don’t realize you hold the whip; you don’t know you’re bleeding out. You have moments of self-awareness, but those usually end up in more lashes, because goodness knows you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. (And down comes the whip again.)

What drives you? Why do you so badly desire that perfection? Do you know?

Like so many other things, the answer is rooted in fear.

Fear of failure, of rejection, of not being loved. Because if you’re good enough, they’ll love you, right? If you press on and work harder, do better, they’ll accept you. You’ll have a place in the ranks. You’ll mean something. You’ll be worthy.

If you do better, God will love you.

Is that the lie you’ve believed? Because trust me, though your mind may balk and say, “I know that’s not true, I know God loves me no matter what,” your heart might tell a different story. Mine has. And trust me when I say that your heart can hold so tightly to that belief, that it thickens and tightens and wraps a chain around your neck. And for the longest time, I had no idea that iron grip was there.

Breaking those bonds takes a journey. It’s a process of discarding the old and knowing the truth that sets you free. I wish the English language had another word for know. The kind I mean isn’t with your head–it’s with your heart. You may mentally acknowledge that you are loved, but do you know it? Do you completely and utterly believe it, to the point that you act like it? Is that truth so rooted in you that any word to the contrary can’t penetrate your heart because you know how very wrong it is?

If you’ve never heard it before, or if you’ve heard it a thousand times with deaf ears, listen now.

You. Are. Loved.

Did you know that if you stopped trying, if you let it all go to pot and let your life fall into shambles, that fact would not change one iota? I know you can hardly wrap your brain around that idea, so try instead to wrap your heart around it. Shut your brain up for just a moment. If you never did another thing for God or for anyone else, He would still love you just as much as He does right now. Your value to Him would remain unchanged. Can you see that? Can you start to?

Once you’re grounded in love, perfection isn’t necessary. Instead, you can strive for something much better: excellence. Do the best you can with what you have, and leave it at that. Keep going, keep improving–to stop is to stagnate–but don’t ever attach the pursuit to your identity. Give yourself grace. God does.

With love from:
A Recovering Perfectionist A Person of Excellence

What Are You Afraid Of?

What are you afraid of?

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I don’t mean heights or small spaces or spiders or the dark or creepy clowns or waking up to find the world is purple and your dog is actually a sentient alien spying on you.

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What are you truly afraid of? What are your deepest fears? Maybe you don’t even realize it, but you’re terrified of rejection, of not being loved. Maybe you’re scared of following the same sad patterns as your father or mother. Perhaps the thought of failure chills you to the bone. Or you might be scared of never having enough, never being enough.

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We all have fears like that. I do.
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Many of us can relate to a fear of failure. Do you ever find that the more you struggle with that fear, the more you fail? And the more you fail, the more your mistakes reinforce those fears? You look to your next endeavor, and a voice inside whispers, “You really think you’ll make it? Look what happened last time. Set your goals a little lower. That way you won’t be so disappointed when you fall short—again.”

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Or say you’re afraid of loneliness, of having no friends. That fear consumes you until you wonder if maybe you’re unlovable—who would want to be with someone like you? And the more you think it, the more you see it’s true. You have no real friends. You were right all along. And the fear-monster tightens its grip.

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In anything, really—not just fears—don’t you find that the more you think something, the more you see it? And the more you see it, the more it reinforces those thoughts? And as those thoughts grow stronger, you see even more evidence of them in your life? It’s an endless cycle, but it doesn’t have to be a bad one.

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Because faith works indiscriminately in the positive and the negative.

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We can all agree that Job had it pretty rough, yes? His livestock and servants, his material wealth—gone, poof. His children—dead under the rubble of a destroyed house. He didn’t have anything left.
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Now, I know that Satan shuffled up to God and obtained his permission to test Job (and I have far more questions about that than I have answers), but it seems that Job himself played a part in bringing about his own downfall.

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“What I always feared has happened to me,” he said. “What I dreaded has come true.” (Job 3:25, NLT) What was he afraid of? The first chapter of Job tells us he daily made sacrifices to atone for his children, thinking that perhaps they’d sinned and cursed God in their hearts.

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He was afraid of punishment. He was afraid of destruction.

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And that is exactly what swept through his life.

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What we believe—really, truly, deep down believe—we attract into our lives. A person who thinks of himself as a loser attracts a loser kind of life. He finds himself gravitating toward other losers, gets a second-rate job, and sees everything through a defeated mindset. A person who thinks of himself as a winner attracts an amazing life. He starts spending time with great people who are growing and successful and encouraging. He finds doors opening, and those that don’t open, he kicks down because he knows he can. He sees life through the eyes of a winner.

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The more the loser looks around at his lackluster world, and the more he listens to his crab-bucket-mentality friends, the more he sees that, “Yep, this is just how life is. This is who I am, and I shouldn’t expect anything better.” The more he thinks that, the more his world will conform to be that.

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The more the winner looks around at his marvelous world, and the more his positive crowd rubs off on him, the more he sees opportunity hidden in the obstacles. He realizes that life is beautiful, that he can, and that he’s meant for great things. The more those thoughts cement themselves in his heart, the more his world will conform to back them up.

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Both people may have the exact same opportunity placed before them, but the former person will look at it and think, “Oh, that’s too much. I could never do that/be that/deal with that stress. I’m just not the person for that.” And he rejects the opportunity. The latter individual will nod and say, “Wow—that’s so much more than what I’m used to, but I can do it. I can grow and develop and go to the next level in life.” He’ll walk through that door and thrive.

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“For as he thinks in his heart, so is he.” (Proverbs 23:7a, NKJV)

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What are you afraid of? What do you think of yourself? (Those two questions are more closely related than you might think.) Those fears need to be dealt with, or else they hold the potential to kill you. Maybe not physically, but fear can draw into your life the very things you’re afraid of. Those things will destroy relationships, your thought life, and anything else they touch. Go to your Creator, lay those crippling chains at His feet, and discover His perfect love. It casts out all fear.
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Afraid of rejection? God promises He’ll never leave you or forsake you. Afraid of repeating the mistakes of your parents? God says you are a new creation—the old has passed away and the new has come. Afraid of failing? God declares that you’re spotless before Him, and it has nothing to do with your successes or failures.

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This love, this perfect, radiant, relentless love, drives out fear.

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Knowing how loved you are gives rise to hope.

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Hope of good things to come gives rise to faith.

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And faith, the full confidence that what you hope for is here, now, whether or not you see it just yet . . . will draw in the physical evidence of that faith like iron to a magnet.

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Fear and faith—both ask you to believe in what you cannot see.

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Which will you listen to?