Forgiven, Not Perfect

There’s a misperception about Christ-followers that we are perfect people with perfect lives. That joy flows from our pores; unicorns and rainbows our constant companions. Even as a Christian, I often feel I have failed to represent Jesus well when these are not my realities or outlooks on life. But that’s not truth. Truth is I am a broken woman even after 35 years of following Jesus. I live in a broken and hurting world, and I am just as affected by the marching beat of its sin as the next person.

The difference is I choose to look to Jesus to save me—not myself, a job, a calling, a passion, or another person. Even in pursuit of Him, I fail.

Truthfully, I haven’t spent much time in God’s Word these past few weeks, not with the regularity that saved me and kept me sane during quarantine, not daily. Since the move, I’ve been low, down, fighting feelings of uselessness, worthlessness, and meaninglessness. I know all these feelings can be combated with time in God’s Word, allowing Him to fill my heart and mind, but the depression begs me to sleep.

It beckons me to stay in bed and pretend another day doesn’t need my presence a little while longer. It is a sneaky, difficult foe to fight. The worship music I play around the house is a soothing reminder of my Jesus keeping the darkness at bay.

I always wonder why I allow myself to fall into this trap. Why don’t I make time to fellowship with the Lord? Why do I allow myself to neglect time with Him when I know it only helps and never hurts? When I reflect, I come up with three deeply honest answers…

One, I silently, secretly blame God for putting me in this season, in this waiting room. In response, I think I can “punish” Him by withdrawing my fellowship. What a fool, I can be in my own pride. As if the Creator can be punished by the created. The truth is I only punish myself because fellowship with Him is the breath I breathe, the very air in my lungs. (Job 33:4) Not to mention, what a petty, vindictive way to treat the Man who wants nothing but the best for me; Who’s sacrificed everything to prove His love for me and asked only for my trust in return.

Second, I’m tired. I’m sad. I’m in the process of healing. It takes time to recover. It takes energy—heart, mind, body, and soul—to recuperate from a hard hit. Big life changes are hard hits. Even the ones you see coming, the ones for which you think you’ve prepared, still hurt on impact. My Jesus knows this, and He gives grace to the weary. I may not be reading His Word the way I know I should, but I also know He’s pouring His grace out over me and into my life. I can feel it when I close my eyes and give thanks for the small things. He never leaves me.

Third, like most people I know in life, I hate admitting when I’m wrong. There are days I willingly choose not to engage in God’s Word. I choose television, tasks, chores, phone calls, word games, internet scrolling, shopping, sleep, or even exercise, but I won’t choose time with my Jesus. Because I am stubborn, and I know meeting with Him requires a humbled heart willing to confess my sins and ask for forgiveness. It requires a willingness to let go of what I want in life, so I can receive what He wants to give. Sometimes, my stubborn, prideful heart just wants to hold on to what I want a little while longer. Yet, I cannot receive more of Him while also holding on with both hands to what I want.

Right now, when I do read my Bible, I’m reading through Acts. This past week there was one verse in the chapter that has held my mind’s eye ever since, even on the days I’ve chosen not to engage in His Word.

Acts 3:19: “Therefore repent and return, so that your sins may be wiped away, in order that times of refreshing may come from the presence of the Lord.”

Isn’t my Jesus precious? Isn’t He gracious and good? When I read this verse, when it replays in my mind, it is not the voice of a sidewalk preacher. It is the voice of the Lover of my Soul pleading with me to come home and be with Him. Not begging as if He needs me but pleading out of love and concern because only He knows what is best for me, and He wants me to choose what’s best. He wants me to choose Him. To repent of my pride and foolishness and stubbornness, and simply return to His side where He promises my weary, hurting, healing heart, mind, and soul will be refreshed by His presence.

This friends, this makes all the difference. Christ-followers aren’t perfect; they are forgiven, and when we’re doing it well, when we’re living in the freedom of that forgiveness, there is a peace and joy and love that flows from the Holy Spirit dwelling with us. Emmanuel, God with us. You see Christians mess up just as much and just as badly as anyone else in this world, sometimes worse. But we’ve learned the art of admitting/confessing our mistakes, owning them, asking for forgiveness, and moving forward with another clean slate in the eyes of our God because of the shed blood of Christ. His mercies are new every morning and great is His faithfulness to His children (Lamentations 3:22-23)!

“Father, forgive me for my childishness. Forgive me for thinking I could punish You, Creator of the Universe. Forgive me for leaning into my weariness instead of leaning into You. Forgive me for my pride. Thank You for always being with me. Thank You that You never leave or forsake me no matter how often I leave and forsake You. Thank You for the promise of refreshing in Your presence. I’m here, Lord, with open hands. Fill me with more of You.”

Breaking the Bad

I've been married for just a little over sixteen years now, and the longer I am married, the longer Joey and I have chosen to stick it out through the hard, the ugly, and the dirty of each other, the more in love with him I fall.

I have a theory that in every relationship there is one person that is better at it than the other because I think God puts us together that way.  Because every relationship goes through what Joey and I like to refer to as the downward, spiraling cycle. If you've been in any kind of relationship for any amount of time, you probably know what I'm referring to--those times when you're hurting and they're hurting, or you're both frustrated, disappointed, angry at life for whatever reasons, could be simple reasons like you both just had a long, hard frustrating day.

It's in these negative, downward spiraling cycles that we often lash out at the people closest to us. We look to them for strength or comfort or help, and since they're in the same place as you, they have nothing to offer either.  It's in this spin cycle that marriages, I believe, begin to crack, separate, and eventually break and disintegrate when the dust settles. Because these cycles start small, but can spin for days, weeks, months, years, growing in size and intensity, until someone finds a way to be the better person, the bigger person, the more humble, Christ-like person and do something to break the bad cycle.

My husband always finds a way to do this.  He can be just as tired, just as disappointed, just as irritated as me because of our life circumstances. So we start to jab and barb at each other.  Small looks, silly comments, silent treatments, ignoring actions and holding our tongues, when all the while the pressure is building underneath.  Someone is going to blow.  It's usually me.

But if one of us can remember Jesus, can humble ourselves enough for just a few moments to breath peace, to remember our war is not against each other, to offer an olive branch in a small or grand gesture, I'm always amazed at how the storm cycle brewing, suddenly vanishes.

We had a horrendous day yesterday of travel. Long flights dotted with the irritability of constant technology malfunctions, delays experienced in the terminal and sitting on the runway, disappointed, tired children, time zone jacking with your eating schedules, Joey losing his beach hat, and just a long list of tiny, irritating, life things that can happen when you travel coast to coast with two children.

Add in the stress I've put myself under all week just trying to pack our family for this week long vacation while making sure the kids are enjoying their mom and their summer, and Joey trying to rap up loose ends at work during a very busy planning season, our spin cycle was already churning before the irritating day of travel began yesterday.

But somehow, my husband wakes up this morning, and it's a new day for him. He's managed to forgive me for all my tongue-in-cheek comments and saucy attitudes (which he had his fair share of contributing, but maybe not as much as myself), and he takes our two restless kids to grocery shop at Walmart for our vacation while I sit here in a quiet hotel room and marvel at how I ended up with a man that is SO good to me, which ultimately brings me back to the thought that I have a man who loves Jesus more than he loves me. Somehow, Joey is better at humbling himself and letting go of his pride and righ- to-be-right than I am.  He's able to brush things off his shoulders and not take them personally WAY better than I am.

And there's one part of me that wants to feel shame over this. Guilt knocks on my heart and begs to enter and play the poor-terrible-me tune.  Jesus shuts the door on that and reminds me there is no condemnation allowed in my relationship with Him. He forgives me, but He does want me to get a grip and fall in line with my fine husband's example, with Jesus' example, of forgive and live and love anyway. His mercies are new every morning.

And so I'll take the gift that Joey and Jesus have offered--this silent, clean hotel room, and I'll give credit where credit is due. I'll be grateful, deeply grateful for a man of God who loves Jesus first, me second, and our children third.  Be grateful for a husband who shoulders the hard work of stepping in and stepping up when my emotions and state-of-mind have got the better of me.  Be thankful that he's capable and willing to take both my kids to the grocery store AND do the shopping for me. 

He's very good at breaking the bad cycle in our marriage, but I'm also very aware of what it costs him to do so. Jesus is excellent at breaking the bad cycles in my life, and in these moments I'm keenly aware of what it cost Him to do so as well.

So I'll be grateful, deeply grateful that my Jesus makes Himself known to me in my marriage through my husband's humble sacrifices of self.  Be grateful for a God who shouldered the hard work of the cross, who stepped in and stepped up when my useless works and bad attitudes and sins were getting the better of me. Be thankful that my Jesus is more than capable of renewing and refreshing my heart and attitude if I will just take the time to let Him.

Joey will undoubtedly be back soon. Kids excited, ready to see their cousins, sun shining and all of us ready to feel warm Florida waves running between our toes. But my husband's willingness to sacrificially, love me, even in this small way--And I KNOW it was a sacrifice for him too, I know he's tired too--now makes my hard, defensive, exterior toward life soften. It makes my bad, selfish, what-about-me attitude dissipate.  His one act of selflessness helps me move past me. It makes me want to be selfless for him in return.

So the question always is, in any relationship, who gives first? Who's going to reset the spin cycle by choosing to be selfless enough to do the hard work of loving the other person even when they don't deserve to be loved? Even when you're not guaranteed to get anything in return? The person who humbles themself first, to the world, appears to be the weak one, the one who always accommodates, gives in, gives up, at least those are the lies I battle when I know I should break the cycle first.  So it's pride that really keeps my back turned most of the time. Pride that insists on "winning" this fight, this argument, this situation. Pride that requires an apology, an admittance of wrong before I will consider softening, letting my guard down, serving, loving the offender.

Yet every time, after the fact, I know it's the one who humbles themself to "lose" the argument or do something to soften and show compassion in the middle of the situation, who gives undeserved grace when every bone in your body is screaming you don't want to--I know that person is the real winner because they are more Christ-like, and they are showing true love.

Sigh. Why can't I be that person more often? I pray to be that person. I think God's grown me in this area with others outside my family, but it's hard work treating those closest to you with this same grace.  We expect so much from the ones who know us best, when really, they're just sinful humans like the rest of the world we somehow so easily forgive at times.

"Lord, thank you for my marriage. Thank you that it truly is the deepest and best picture of how You love us. Thank you for a husband who loves me well, who humbles himself to bear the weight of hard choices and hard situations, who breaks the bad cycles in our marriage with his servant's heart. Teach me to be more humble. I know that real love expects nothing in return, ever. Teach me to really love him, Lord. Forgive me for my hard, entitled heart. No one owes me anything, Lord, but I owe everything to You."

Have Courage: Lessons with Littles

It was August of 2014.  I had just spent six weeks apartment living for the first time in my entire life of 34 years. Throw a dog and two kids into that apartment, and it was, shall we say, adventurous, but trying. Now our rental house had finally become available. The movers had come and gone, and the boxes were everywhere. I had just moved from east coast to west coast, and it was time to make a home again.

To say I was stressed and exhausted--mentally, emotionally, physically--would have been an understatement.  But if I was anything, I was calm. I was taking one bite of life at a time. I was controlled--or so I thought.

That first week in our new neighborhood, our family took a stroll down to the playground/green park field that most neighborhoods in California like to incorporate. It was a quiet, peaceful, late afternoon with the sun beginning to set, when we turned to walk our family of four and our dog Samson back to our new home.

Samson was trotting along at the end of his leash, all ten years of his contented dachshund self happy to be pulling at the end of eight feet of leash, trying to keep up with the kids skipping ahead.  When it happened.

Out of nowhere an Irish Setter, attached to a leash NOT attached to an owner, rushed my little dog, blind siding him. A rolling mass of red hair and leash began to tumble across the sidewalk in front of me, with yipping, yelping, snarling, and growling coming from within the ball of fur.

My husband quickly entered the red hair flurry, pulling the Irish Setter out by its owner-less leash.

I, on the other hand, had snapped. Something inside of me broke and for the (maybe) fifth? time in my entire life, I had an out of body experience where I was outside of my body viewing my life like a camera man panning a scene. Some of the scenes were close ups of the woman's face who had appeared on the scene as the owner of the Irish Setter. She was older, sixties, slow, confused, befuddled. A look of bewilderment smeared across her face.  Pan up, and from above, looking down, I am 12-15 inches from her face. Screaming.

I mean screaming. To this day, I do not remember what I said to her. Something about dogs needing to be on a leash. Something about her dog attacking mine. Something about what the heck was she thinking. I don't know. I just know I was red-faced and spit was flying from the corners of my mouth. Pan to the side, and my arms were flailing wildly like it was all I could do to keep from grabbing this woman and shaking her.

I remember taking a breath. She looked at me incredulously and said, "Why are you screaming at me?" And it was in that unapologetic remark, I found my second wind and began to scream again. Was that all she had to say for herself? My dog could be seriously injured. He has bad hips and a bad back, etc. etc. etc. Why would you let your dog run around the park while you sit on a bench? The screaming continued, and I realized another neighbor had entered onto the scene and swiftly inserted himself and his dog in between me and this woman, slowly creating distance between us. I must have looked like a mad woman, at least that's how I imagine it.

I turn to look to my husband for some support, some back-up. He has Samson in his arms and is already fifty yards away, back turned to me, telling the kids to head home, now. Red-faced and heaving from the exertion, I enter back inside my body and turn reluctantly to follow him home.

In the hours that follow, I fumed over the arrogance of this woman who never once apologized or even acknowledged that her dog had done something wrong. But once the fuming began to fade, I began to realize also the error of my own ways.  In the retelling of the story to people in the next few months, I openly acknowledged I owed that woman an apology. She became teasingly known as "my friend," and both my husband and my children liked to point out when we drove by the park that "my friend" was out, or she's in front of her house, or she's over there with her dog.

Six months passed and the lookout for "my friend" had not faded. Neither my husband nor my kids would let me forget I owed this lady an apology. My plan to let things die down, hoping they would forget about the incident wasn't working. Their constant reminders began to rub my pride the wrong way.  I know I was in the wrong, but so was "my friend." She started it by not tending to her dog properly. She should be the one to apologize first, especially since she hadn't apologized in the heat of the moment.  All of these arguments and reasonings and conversations played around inside my head for months.

And every time, I heard the voice of the Lord, softly and gently elbow nudge my spirit, "You know you need to apologize. It's the right thing to do." And never more than that. He wasn't nagging like the voices of my children, or slightly condescending like my husband. He wasn't making me have to do anything. But in His kindness and softness, I felt myself begin to give. I knew He was right. I knew they were all right.  I just plain didn't.want.to.do.it..

Bottom line. I didn't want to. It would require I swallow huge lumps of pride in the back of my throat. It would require an embarrassing conversation that I could foresee no good way of beginning. Apologizing to a woman who didn't even know my name, and I didn't even know hers. It was too embarrassing, too awkward of a situation. Time would pass. This would be forgotten in the long run.

Then one day in May, we were driving past her house with her car in the driveway and her Irish setter behind the fence like we had had to do every day since August to get out of our neighborhood, and my daughter pipes up very calmly from the back seat, "Mom. You just need to have courage and apologize."

Have courage. My stomach sinks, and if there was an ounce of pride left in me, it oozed out onto the floor of the car. I sighed, and gently replied, "You're right, darling. I do need to have courage."

And I began to pray that very moment, right then and there, that the Lord would provide the perfect opportunity for me to apologize. I prayed it would be on a day we weren't in a hurry trying to get somewhere on time. I prayed my kids would be in the car with me, so they could see me apologize. I prayed that the woman would be alone in the park, mostly to cut down on my own embarrassment.  I began to pray for these things every time, every day, we had to drive past that green space and her house.

And to be honest, there were days we were in a hurry, and she was in the park. I told the kids we didn't have time to stop. Excuses. There were days I saw her out in the park with other dogs and neighbors. I told the kids she looked busy. Excuses. There were days I saw her alone, but the kids weren't in the car, so I drove right on by. Excuses.

Let me tell you, living a life full of excuses is unpleasant, and every time I passed that park, I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat. It dawned on me that living a life of excuses was just as uncomfortable as the conversation I knew I needed to have to make the apology. It was really a simple matter of will I keep making the wrong choice or do the hard thing and follow through with the right choice. Both seemed equally uncomfortable at this point.

And I began to contemplate my daughter's rather insightful perception at the age of seven, that to apologize, to confess my wrong behavior--without the expectation of an apology in return!--that act really would and does embody the definition of courage. Wikipedia defines courage as "the choice and willingness to confront agony, pain, danger, uncertainty or intimidation. Physical courage is courage in the face of physical pain, hardship, death or threat of death, while moral courage is the ability to act rightly in the face of popular opposition, shame, scandal or discouragement."

Have courage. All the circumstances surrounding why I had acted the way I had acted really didn't matter. The fact that the other party involved had no reaction or an inappropriate reaction really didn't matter. Courage is a personal choice. And in the case of a child of God, it is an act of obedience, a personal choice that God calls me to make out of obedience to Him and His hand on my life. And while to that woman, my choice would not look like courage to her, it would be the poster illustration of courage to my watching children.

And my children were watching. I had asked them to have courage for almost a year now. Placing them in new surroundings, new schools, new church classes, new routines, new after-school activities, new everything.  I had thrown them in and preached courage to them. Praised them for their bravery and fortitude and good attitudes. It was time to practice what I preached.

So almost a year later, one day in July, the Lord answered every one of my specific prayers, and once again in my pride, I was going to drive past that park, fingers crossed, hoping the kids didn't see the Irish Setter running around. Nope. "Moooommm!! There she is! When are you going to apologize?"

My pride oozed out onto the floor of my car once more. U-turned at the stop sign. Parked in front of the park. Walked hesitantly up to the woman, introduced myself with a hand shake, and apologized for my behavior almost a year ago. She had the same befuddled look on her face. She began to make excuses for her dog, something about how her dog thought smaller dogs were rabbits? I bit my tongue and simply apologized again for my inappropriate behavior. She smiled briefly and said, "Well, it must not have been too bad if I don't remember it." Shaking my hand again, she told me again her name was Freida, I said mine was Jennifer, wished her a great day, and returned to my car.

Both kids were smiling ear to ear and giving me their thumbs up. Something in me felt lighter, less burdened. Free.

I didn't even know I had been imprisoned.  Bothered, yes. Troubled, maybe. But imprisoned? No, the freedom I have felt driving past Freida's house every day since definitely points to the fact I had been imprisoned by the sin of my pride in this matter.

And it makes me wonder how many other little things, small sins, little bothers, small troubles are actually keeping me in chains, are keeping me from being able to live life with a freedom most people only dream of. For how many years have these sins--supposedly forgotten, supposedly in my past, supposedly swept under the rug--for how many years have some of them held my life captive? In what other ways am I living a life of cowardice instead of courage in the eyes of my children? 

I realized that to willingly humble oneself is the most courageous human act. (Philippians 2: 3-11) My children even recognized this. My ability to admit my mistakes, confess when I was wrong, willingly own my failures--this was courage. This was how my children would learn to be courageous.

I also realized that sins of the past don't have an expiration date. They wouldn't expire until they were confessed and forgiven. Sometimes that means asking forgiveness of others if those others are still available to ask, but I find that more often it means asking forgiveness for myself and recognizing that all those little supposedly insignificant sins add up to a lifetime of living excuses in one area or another. Jesus always knows how to forgive perfectly. I just had to ask.

Suddenly conviction became a beautiful gift. I wanted to confess every sin. I wanted to apologize every chance I got. I was overwhelmed by just how easy it could be to be truly free, truly unencumbered. I just had to let go of me and grab hold of Jesus instead. Once again, His way, His path, led directly to freedom. 

Have courage. Let go of you and grab hold of Jesus instead. Huh....easier typed than lived.  After all, it took me almost a year just to make one apology. I'm praying next time I can at least cut that time frame in half;)

Even Christians Have Bad Days

I wouldn't say the "other shoe dropped" or "it hit the fan" or any other silly euphemism that might be a little too dramatic, but last week was definitely a hard week.  I'm not going to blame it on any one thing in particular other than I lost too many battles last week--battles with my kids, my husband, our schedules, my hormones, my thoughts, etc. I felt alone, utterly alone. I felt my humanity.  My fleshly, worldly self was all too real last week.  I was wrapping my mind around all the things my six senses could process instead of the thousands of spiritual truths God has written on my spiritual mind and woven into my inmost being of who He says I am. (Psalm 139; Ephesians 1--"go-to" chapters for who God says I am in Christ.)

No, I just believed all the wrong voices last week.  I gave in, and I cried.  A LOT. I could probably still cry sitting here thinking about it. I was harsh with my children, with my husband, but mostly with myself. And it hurt.  Everything about where I am at this point in my journey in life just hurt, and I fully believed the lie that I was alone.  Completely alone. (Deuteronomy 31:6, 8; Hebrews 13:5; Matthew 28:20)

And even now as I type this, I can feel the battle raging on the inside.  Half of me is still feeling like that lie is truth.  The other half of me, the half that clings to the feet of my Jesus and wields the Sword of the Spirit in His strength alone, that half is fighting the lie, and honestly, in this moment, it's a draw as to who's winning. (Hebrews 4:12)

And so rages the war of the follower of Christ. (Romans 7)  To be a Christ-follower, a true "Christian" for lack of a better term--even though I dislike that term because it's so flippantly used to describe a body of people that do not always fit the Biblical definition--but to be a true Christian in this worldly, fleshly body is to battle daily, moment by moment. (Ephesians 6:12)

Some days we are so filled with the spirit of Christ that we appear to be Mother Theresa--kind, loving, gentle, humble, full of joy and hope and faith.  On those days, the enemy doesn't stand a chance. (Romans 8:14)

On other days, this sinful flesh our soul calls home on this earth beats us to within an inch of our lives.(2 Corinthians 4:9) The difficulties of a sinful world driven by sin-caused circumstances allowed as natural outcomes by a Sovereign God who lovingly won't make choices for us, but also lovingly doesn't always hold back the consequences of those choices, these difficulties cause us hurt, pain, suffering, loneliness, etc. etc. etc! The list goes on and THE LIST IS THE SAME as those who want nothing to do with Christ in their life.

I think what non-believers miss in all their judgement of Christians being judgmental is we hurt too. We struggle too.  We get angry.  We make mistakes--big ones.  We wear masks.  We mess up.  And yes, we judge others when we shouldn't.  There is not one thing a non-believer experiences on this earth that a Christian does not also experience. We are all human.

We are ALL human.  ALL.  The same ALL that have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.(Romans 3:23) And the truth is, we will continue to fall short of God's glory ALL the days we live and breathe on this fallen earth in this fleshly body. Sin really screwed everything up.(Romans 8:22) There is nothing new under the sun.(Ecclesiastes 1:9)  God's plan for mankind hasn't changed since the beginning of time. (Genesis 3:15) What He has spoken in the Bible, well, some has already come to pass, some is currently coming to pass, and all of it will come to pass.  Mark His words, not mine. (Matthew 24:35)

So in the moment when you, child of God, are having a no good, horrible, very bad day, you've lost the battle, you feel like you're losing the war, remember that as a follower of Christ, as a true Christian, you have something/Someone, those who don't believe do not possess.  YOU HAVE CHRIST!

Jesus Christ!  He is the one thing that separates the lambs from the goats, the redeemed from the condemned.(Matthew 25:31-46)  Your personal relationship with Him is what makes you different; it's what sets you apart from the world.(Hebrews 10:10)  And as far as your bad day goes, Jesus Christ is the only thing that makes you, makes me, different from anyone else in this world, and by George, if He didn't experience some of the worst days of us all?!??!?!?!?  He was rejected by his home town, abandoned by those who loved him in time of need, tortured within an inch of His life before He was murdered under false charges. (Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John)  Now those, those are some pretty bad days.  And He was the Christ.  Not a follower, He was God. (John 10:30)

And today, in the midst of your bad day, in the midst of my bad days, I remember that He IS the Christ. He IS God because He rose again.  On the third day, He rose again.(1 Corinthians 15:4)  And non-believers can scoff and say that I believe in a myth, a legend, that I base my life on the teachings of a "good" man, but He's the only man that's ever risen from the dead by His own power, and that's something. Believe it or not, that's something that no one else in history has ever claimed.

So that's something different. That's something amazing.  That's something that springs new hope in the driest of circumstances.  And if that's not enough, when you choose to grab a hold of that hope and actually believe that Jesus just might be the Someone or something missing from your life, and you start to believe, to have faith...wow!  A whole new world opens up because faith moves mountains.(Matthew 17:20)  Faith is the foundation for trust. Faith shields you from the flaming arrows of the enemy.(Ephesians 6:16)  And then, in just a small mustard seed of faith you find what grows is love because faith is planted in, watered by, and grows out of love. True love.  The most powerful of all the fruits of the spirit because God IS Love. (Galatians 5:22; 1 John 4:8)  He and Love are one and the same.  It is impossible to show true Love without showing other people God Himself.  (No wonder so many have such a twisted view of who God is.  We mess up showing His love all too often...) Faith, Hope, and Love. (1 Corinthians 13:13)

They are powerful weapons in the arsenal of the Christian.  They are sadly too often misused.  Hence why non-believers have every reason to judge us for their misuse. Nevertheless, regardless of their misuse, in Christ, they are still ours to possess, to wield, to master. They cannot be fully possessed, wielded, or mastered by a non-believer.  I'm sorry.  That's just the way it is.  True Christians have the market on life-changing faith, hope, and love. In Christ alone, through Christ alone.  All these things do we possess! (Ephesians 1)

Everyone--but Christ alone--the world, the flesh, the enemy--they sell lies.  Fakes.  Ideas that feel like hope, that feel like faith, that feel like love.(John 10:10; John 8:44)  But Christ is not a feeling.  He is a Person.  He is God who walked this earth in human flesh over 2000 years ago. He is not a feeling.  If what you are currently clinging to is a feeling, you have bought the fake, my friend.  It's trade-in value at the end of time, at the end of your current struggle, is worthless. (Matthew 3:12)

No, my fellow Christians, the bad days will come.  They will.  We are all human.  Not until heaven will we escape the bad days.  And since Christ pretty much promised us suffering for His name's sake, I'm gonna go out on a limb and say we may even have more bad days than our non-believing friends....here....on earth.(2 Timothy 3:12)  But oh the joy of heaven!!!  Oh the joy of ETERNITY with our Christ in His home, our true home.  The faith and the hope and the love for and in our Savior is what gets us through the bad moments, days, weeks, seasons of life.  Cling to that.

Cling to the simpleness of Psalm 119:151: "You are near, O Lord, and all Your commandments are truth." 

Period.  Simple.  To the point. Truth.  Not a lie.  No fuss.  No defense needed.  No more beating yourself up. No condemnation for those in Christ. (Romans 8:1) We will all have hard times, bad days, life-altering horrible moments. We will cry.  A LOT. And our feelings will change and fluctuate and fail us, but in Christ, we have a fixed point, a True North, a Center that does not move, does not change, and for Whom it is impossible to lie.(Malachi 3:6; Hebrews 6:18)

So I think the next time I have a bad day, a bad week, a hard season, I think I might just wallow through my days repeating the phrase, "But I have Christ.  I have Christ.  I have Christ."  And I might mumble it under my breath.  I might take it for granted.  I might roll my eyes and sigh and struggle to live out that truth. But maybe by repeating those words over and over again, my feelings will eventually fall in line with Truth.  It might take a while, but that's ok because after all, I'm only human.

I guess what I'm coming to realize is bad days are inevitable no matter how deep into God's Word you dive.  I think there's a lie in Christian culture we believe that the closer you get to Christ in your walk with the Lord, the lesser the number of bad days you should experience. That lie is based on my own pride in thinking that I could ever get good enough, holy enough, close enough to God to deserve to not have a bad day. So for me, my bad days humble me.  They break me.  They send me kneeling back at the feet of my big, Gracious God, seeking for His help and strength and guidance.

Bad days keep me humble.  They expose my weaknesses.  They remind me that God is enough, and He is all I need to weather the storm. None of me.  All of Him.

So throw yourself a heaping lifeline of grace the next time you're having a bad day.  God's grace is for us all, and in His name--in the name of Jesus Christ--all those who believe in Him will have Hope! (Matthew 12:21)