Today at church, my pastor asked the congregation to raise a hand if we had a good week. Lots of hands went up. Then he asked, were you good this week? Almost everyone kept their hands down. But I saw a neatly dressed older man across the aisle from me raise his hand. The pastor again asked, were you perfectly good? Again the man raised his hand. All the while, I was thinking about my filthy mouth as I drove to and from work this week, in my car, alone. I was impatient with slow drivers, annoyed at those who aren’t as smart as me – the ones who don’t know where they’re going.

The pastor’s questions were the segue to our weekly quiet time of confession. I always have something to confess to the Lord: anger, impatience, unkindness, being judgmental, spiritual laziness, etc. In fact, I’m rarely finished confessing when the pastor speaks again to end the moment of confession time silence. Even if I’m only focusing on one particular sin that week, I pray about it deeply and sincerely.

I don’t personally know the man in the conservative dark suit who was perfectly good this week. Maybe he really is very pure in heart and had nothing to confess. I’m skeptical. I don’t believe anyone is perfectly good. Perhaps it’s because I know myself so well. I look in my heart on a daily basis and see how short I fall of God’s glory.

A couple of weeks ago I went to a memorial service for a woman who was described in the eulogy as an angel, a saint. Of course, that’s what a eulogy is for –  to speak highly of the departed. But the eulogy left me feeling comparatively bad because I know I’m no angel. Later, I spoke to a friend who was at the service and he said, “I always thought she was kind of pious. I wanted to go the service to see what she was really like.” He recalled a time when he referred to himself as a sinner in need of grace and the woman said, “I don’t think of myself as a sinner.” All I could say was “wow!” because I can’t imagine a day when I will ever think of myself as not a sinner.

I want to be good. I strive to be good. It would be great if there was ever a week, ever even one day, that I didn’t need confession time. My inner being delights in God’s law: love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength. And love your neighbor as yourself.

But another law is at work in me, waging war against the rules I know in my mind. I know that I should be patient, kind and generous. I know I should love my enemies. I know I shouldn’t cuss at other drivers! But selfishness is right there with me making me a prisoner of the sin at work within me.

So I find this law at work: Although I want to do good, evil is right there with me. For in my inner being I delight in God’s law; but I see another law at work in me, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within me. What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death? Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord! (Romans 7:21-25)

Many people think they are good because they compare themselves to people who are bad. I confess that I will never be good because my standard is much higher. Thanks be to God for forgiving me even when I don’t deserve it.

Forgiven, forgiven, you love me even when I don’t deserve it.

 

 

 

 

Yesterday I picked up a book at the library – Nothing to Prove: Why We Can Stop Trying So Hard, by Jennie Allen. I flipped to the back of the cover flap to read about the author and saw a photo of a beautiful, young woman. I read the intro called “Admitting Our Thirst” and the first chapter where she makes her “quiet confession” – how in so many situations in life, she has concluded that she is not enough. This confession resonates with me big time. I’ve always been plagued with self-doubt. I am certainly not an underachiever. But I have a tendency to worry too much about what people think of me. I also think that I am not enough: not good enough, not successful enough, not popular enough.

This week I went to the memorial service for a beautiful woman who sat in front of me at church for many years. Sharyl was 77 years old – almost the same age my mother was when she passed away. Sharyl called me and the others in our section “pew pals.” We didn’t socialize outside church but we were friends, chatting for a few minutes before the service or in Sunday school. Over the years, I learned that she was from Salina, Kansas, the town I lived in after college. Her family lived in Texas and she traveled often to see them, even more than I visit my family in Kansas.

The memorial service for Sharyl was long because there was so much to say about her mission work, her gift of hospitality, her love of traveling (she had achieved her bucket list of visiting all 50 states and 7 continents), and the godly example she set for her children. She was active in the church’s mission work, particularly with the Uyghur ethic group in China. She was remembered as a saint, an angel. But I was also impressed with her intelligence. She graduated with a degree in mathematics in the early ’60’s, before she married and had four kids.

I grieved Sharyl’s loss but in learning more about her life, I also found myself playing the mind game I always play – comparing myself to a good person who has accomplished much and finding myself wanting. I am not godly enough. I don’t have her gifts. I haven’t accomplished enough. I’m not interesting enough. I am not enough.

There is something comforting in knowing that someone who seems to have it all has also been tormented with feelings of insufficiency. I am not alone.

Jennie Allen said that if she were my enemy she would play mind games with me. She would make me believe that I am helpless. She would make me believe I am insignificant. She would make me believe that God wants my good behavior. She would make me numb and distract my attention from what God is doing.

If all of these mind games didn’t work, my enemy would attack my identity and make me feel like I have to prove myself. Then friends would become enemies. I would isolate myself. I would hold myself back. I would judge and condemn other people rather than love them. And I would lose my joy because I would be paying so much attention to myself that I would take my eyes off of God.

Wow. I’m looking forward to my journey through this book, hoping that Jennie’s insight will free me from my need to prove myself good enough, worthy enough, accomplished enough.

I am not enough and I am done trying to be.