Growing older, I hate it. Sure, there's a lot to love about being in one's twenties: freedom and opportunity are at their max, responsibility and cynicism are at their minimum. But the Peter Pan inside me shudders. I don't know how to do this, I don't know how to be this.
A twenty-three-year-old is an adult. Adults are supposed to be responsible and do the right thing. But I am just so bad at doing the right thing. I feel like I get more broken the older I get.
And there is where I finally see how difficult faith is.
It doesn't seem fair that there's unending grace for this screw up. It doesn't seem fair that Jesus stands as my substitute though I continue to make a mess of each day. It doesn't seem fair that such a fickle heart should have part in His precious gift.
That's not fair. That's not fair.
That's what grace is, not fair.
Thank Jesus, my King, my protector and provider, the One who replaces my cynicism with hope, who makes me smile with the start and the close of each new day, for His mercies are new every morning and His love is unrelenting. It's not always easy for me to believe that, that I'm part of it. It's not always easy for me to believe that my particular brand of brokenness is no exception to His promise. That's what makes faith difficult, because it asks you to stake everything on a gift that is entirely free. It asks you to table the obsessive analysis of your own devotion in following Jesus. It asks you to just follow, and all will be healed in its time.
I am broken. But Jesus makes me whole.