My sin

Trying to work through writers block. I hate that word, that state of being. I’m sitting here trying to get my thoughts out on a piece of paper and my brain decides to stop feeding me anything worth typing and all I’m left with is deep, unpenetratable darkness and fog rolling around my mind. Clogging all avenues of thought and forcing me to find my way through the side streets and back alleys of thought. As I try to find my way to a clear thought I pass places I haven’t ventured in years and never dared to stay and visit for fear of what I’d remember and the things they would cause me to feel. The sorrow of loss, the deep despair of depression and hopelessness, the stabbing pain of betrayal, the fear of living a lie. They all come rushing back to me as I stop and stare into the storefronts in my mind. The stores have names like, “My Family”, “High school”, “The Air Force”, “Girls”, and “People I thought were friends”. I want to turn and walk away, to never look at these things again but I can’t. I’m held there in a state of morbid curiosity praying, hoping, pleading, that somehow as I watch the past unfold in front of me that this time things will turn out different. That maybe this time my cousin won’t get addicted to drugs. That I’ll do more with my teenage years, instead of waiting until I’m 17 to pay attention to God’s voice. That I’ll be a better leader in basic training this time. That if I replay it over in my mind for the millionth time I won’t have to break up with my girlfriend. And maybe, just maybe, this time people will care enough about me to keep me from spending the better part of a night hunched over a toilet puking my guts out.

Instead I see the same things I always see. The heartbreak, the selfishness, the stupidity, the poor choices, and the nights of crying myself to sleep. I want to tear myself away from the horror show playing out before me, but I can’t, I won’t, because as painful as it is to watch I remember what comes next. The restoration, the redemption, the growth, and finding a spiritual depth I never dreamed of. Not because I deserve it, but because Jesus died for me. He died to cover my sin, my pain, my stupidity, and my invisible spine and redeem them. He reaches into the farthest, most dirty areas of my life and transforms them into something amazing; something new, clean, and pure. And all I can do in return is give Him all the glory for it, there’s nothing about the process I can take credit for. The images in the store’s windows are painful reminders that on my own I’m useless and constantly making a mess out of things.

Jesus is the only thing I have that’s worth anything, the only one who can put me back together, the only one who’s ever lived a perfect life so I wouldn’t have to, and that makes Him the only thing worth clinging to. Not my scars, my pride, or my pain. So I watch the movies play themselves out again and again to remind myself of a love greater and stronger than all my sin. I don’t enjoy the suffering, but I love being rescued.