Why did I ever start this?
Perfectionism like fingers around my neck.
Strangling me.
Screaming for one thing or another.
The wanting. In my life.
Getting a hold. Things beyond my reach.
Knowing better really.
Going round and round.
In futile attempts.
But one thing getting the attention.
Again and again.
The scream that won't die.
For the want. A life full.
And not knowing the how.
To get there.
Collaging words. Snapping beauty everywhere I go.
The hunt.
And in the hunt.
What I am learning. Even now.
Broken.
A theme in life.
With God. Myself. And others.
Fear bellowing loud.
Exploding on the page.
Daily lack showing up hungry.
Throwing off track.
Scaring. Isolating.
And me.
Running to whatever fixes.
For a while.
And it's been a theme.
In this space.
Because maybe you too.
The reminding.
And the best counseling.
Sometimes a friend.
Having already dug deep.
And in the safety. I find.
The not-giving of trite.
Or disguised contempt.
Or weary showing through.
But gently. Humbly.
The redirecting.
Reframing of the snap shots.
Of everyday life.
Because.
When we take off our mask.
In the real and the messy.
And still. Do not scare.
When judgment does not knock us over the head.
In the reality of who we are.
And the scream dying a thousand deaths.
In the gift of grace.
We stop being scared.
Stop running.
Turning around.
And really see.
A love story never more beautiful.
Jesus. Full of grace and truth.
And so.
Finding the intimacy I crave.
A life full. Of Him.
The unmasking. Gloriously liberating.
And offering it. My broken.
To a world that sometimes scorns.
Knowing all along.
It may not be enough.
Or it may be too much.
But offering it anyway.
Why did I ever start this?
Because.
Talking about the grace of God makes me come alive.
Know what can make you miserable. Hands down?
Ungrace.
Trying to win someone's approval. A feeling of not measuring up.
Coming from them. Coming from you.
And on the day it crashes. For you.
The ungrace - like shards of glass, broken sharp edges, around your feet.
Crazy scary. Unsettling.
Much to clean up. Carefully.
Because what happens.
Blaming and criticizing and ruminating - and it's in your head.
And it's all about you.
Not measuring up. Not meeting the standard. Failing.
Surely, in the Christian world, not an issue.
For the whole concept of faith is wrapped up in grace.
But do we get it?
The awe-inspiring, jaw-dropping incredible gift.
Grace.
And even for the humanists.
Those embracing man as the answer to life.
Doesn't life come crashing down? A seeking. There must be more.
Why don't we get it?
A chasing. A running after. To fill the empty.
The search for significance.
This lust - so pervasive in post-modern culture.
In the cinema, in the music, in the glossy covers.
Even our homes, our schools, our churches.
Culture everywhere. Striving.
And in the striving, the twisting of our lives into a charade.
The wearing of masks eventually.
Too painful, the real. For failing to meet the standard.
For just plain failing. Even in our own minds.
Falling short. Again and again.
And then failure even to try.
Ungrace.
Nothing more unattractive or painful.
The judgment, the guilt, the shame. Falling victim.
To perfectionism and striving.
Desperately trying to make a life count for something.
George MacDonald put it succinctly.
You need not be a Christian to build houses, feed the hungry, or heal the sick.
There is only one thing the world cannot do.
It cannot offer grace.
What the world needs.
Almost defying description.
So good the Gift.
And in accepting the Gift.
Something happens.
In place of the striving, the chasing after the wind.
In it's place.
A quiet strength with humility.
A joy from forgiveness.
A life of purpose; understanding intrinsic worth.
Restored relationship with God.
With ourselves.
Nothing to prove. Only to accept.
And the ungrace.
When it comes calling.
Something to discard, to run from; a destroyer.
Because no matter who you are or what you believe.
If extended Grace, you are grateful.
A powerful gift.
The only thing the world cannot offer.
