I’ve messed up. Many, many times.
I suspect that you have, too. At least once.
Sometimes, when I think about what I’ve done, said, thought, felt,
I begin to think of myself as unworthy.
That I don’t deserve good.
That I don’t deserve happy.
That I don’t deserve beauty.
Some might say that’s the depravity of flesh.
The inability to do a good thing.
An acute case of unrighteousness.
I wonder, though, how the image of God fits in that depraved flesh.
Because I know I’m fearfully and wonderfully made,
I know that I’m not a lost cause. Neither are you.
I get a gift. And it’s free.
Just grace and love and more chances.
I don’t deserve beauty. Maybe not.
But I get it.
He’s just good like that.