i wake up every morning and immediately start keeping score. did i pray enough yesterday? was i kind enough, patient enough, holy enough? did i earn my place in God’s love today?
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the arithmetic of the flesh is exhausting. somewhere between my third coffee and the hundredth self-reproach, it hits me: i’m still living as if the cross was just a suggestion. i act like forgiveness is a loan i have to repay with good behavior, rather than a gift already signed in blood. i keep trying to crawl back into the courtroom, where Christ has already declared me “not guilty, it is finished.”
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but my mind keeps whispering, “are you sure?”
i confuse sanctification with self-improvement. God isn’t waiting for me to become flawless— He’s shaping me through the flaws. every stumble isn’t a detour, but part of the shaping.
His mercy isn’t a limited-time offer. i don’t need to keep reapplying it like spiritual sunscreen. the debt was canceled, not deferred. my righteousness isn’t mine— it’s Christ’s. when God looks at me, He sees His Son. not my false starts, but Jesus’ finished work.
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today, i’m practicing one radical act: receiving. not achieving. not proving. just letting the truth wash over me: i am loved because He is love. i am accepted because He chose me. i am enough because He is enough in me. the war isn’t won by my striving, but by His surrender on the cross.