Sinner vs. Saint

When I want to post, I can never seem to get within ten feet of my computer. And when I do have a spare moment, usually late at night when the mess mice are fast asleep in their messy little beds in their even messier rooms , I've forgotten what I wanted to say. Or, I can't seem to lasso in the words.

None-the-less, I feel compelled to try. The other day, as I was mindlessly driving down the road to pick up my mom for school (she helps me three days a week), I was having a grand ol' time beating myself up. Yes, I know. We're not supposed to do that. I know all my titles--new creation, the daughter of the King, a beautiful and spotless bride and so on. With a resume' like that, I should be gliding on the clouds. But, if the truth be known, I've never been fond of the Stuart Smaley approach to life. For those of you who have never been defiled by Saturday Night Live, he's this incredibly dorky guy who stares into a hand mirror while reciting the mantra, "I'm smart enough, I'm good enough, and darnit, people like me." I've heard Bible teachers say, you can't live the abundant, overflowing Christian life without embracing your "idenity" as a child of God. That may all be true. But, when push comes to shove, and the harsh morning light has exposed my already compounding pile of daily sins, claiming that "I am a friend of Jesus" is about as helpful as an umbrella in a hurricane.

What I need, and what I got the other day, was a good dose of who He is and how worthless I am without Him. You see, apart from His restraining Holy Spirit, I become a raving lunatic when one of my children so much as drops a pencil. Apart from His daily dose of life-sustaining grace, I would curse the very children he entrusted to me. If He did not pray for me, I would disinigrate. If He did not convict my wandering soul moment by moment, I would surely walk away. If His Spirit did not direct me, whispering gently to turn to the left or to the right, I would be hopelessly lost. If He did not intercede for me, the Devil would have me. If He did not die for me, and if I could not claim His precious blood upon my worthless, filthy soul I would be destroyed daily and eternally. No, my success as a Christian has little to do with who I think I am, but everything to do with who He is.

I just need to remind myself that His strength is perfected in my weakness. When I struggle, I must cry out to Him to deliver me. When I want to punch the WalMart clerk in the kisser, I must pray that His love take over. When I want to berate my children for leaving their stinking, festering socks on the kitchen table for the ten thousandth time, I must pray that His infinite patience be manifested in me. When I venture into the projects to teach a weekly Bible study, I must pray that His words replace my stumbling, useless ones.

Some say we should replace the old adage that "we are sinners saved by grace" with the more self esteem friendly saying that "we are now saints who were saved by grace." Call me a fuddy duddy, but I still prefer the first because I know me. You see, I know I'm still a sinner in desperate need of daily deliverence from myself and there is no amount of sweet talkin' in the world that could take the place of that.