Self-Talk

This morning, I was leaning over, looking through my bottom cupboards for a tupperware, when the cereal box on the counter above me tipped over and rained its contents upon my head. I've sat in a waterfall, and now I've been under a cereal-fall, I guess.

But, as Honey Nut Cheerios poured forth upon my head, I realized in a single moment that I had a decision before me:
I could either be angry at the inanimate box for maliciously making a mess for me first thing in the morning,
OR
I could laugh at myself, standing there in my bathrobe with little cereal rounds plinking on the kitchen linoleum.

It reminded me of a time last week when my husband and I were in the midst of a misunderstanding and the options seemed laid before me in a similar manner - a moment when the question crystallized:
Am I going to make myself vulnerable and tell him what I'm thinking and feeling in a bid for reconciliation,
OR
Am I going to play the dramatic, wounded heroine who bears her injuries silently (albeit sullenly)?

It's hard, in a world so me-centered, to consciously push myself to the side. Yet, invariably, it's better, at least in the end.

When the idea for this blog post started to percolate in my mind, I thought it was going to be culture-directed . . . addressing the ills of the self-esteem movement, going after the poor psychology of pop-culture psychology.

But that's not the real issue.

The real issue is that I am desperately wicked.

Not flawed.

Flawed sounds nicer, but it points the finger in the wrong direction.

Think about it: if you buy a product that is flawed, whom do you blame? The manufacturer, of course. You're not going to blame the product for being made in error; you're going to take it back to the store or write the company and ask for a refund (or just complain and not do anything about it, but that's a topic for another time).

If I am flawed, then God gets the blame for making me this way. But I know that everything He makes is good, so His workmanship can't be the problem.

There's another word, not as nice as "flawed," that sheds some light on the issue.

"Sin."

Sin isn't a popular word today. In fact, I may have just gotten branded as part of the radical right for using it. But give me a second; acknowledging sin may be the kindest thing we can do for ourselves and each other.

Consider the current concept of self. We live in a day when teachers are not allowed to reprimand students or use red ink because of the harmful psychological effects it might pose. Spanking is going out of vogue as the idea of shaping and molding children gets pushed to the out-of-date column. We are told to accept people for who they are, to allow the free expression of individuality, and to affirm each person's unique bent rather than to suggest that they might be wrong or in need of change. God made us like this, we are told; appreciate it!

But, what if we are not flawed, and God didn't make us like this? What if we are sinful?

If we are sinful, we can be forgiven.
If we are sinful, we can learn to live differently.
If we are sinful, we can learn how to draw near to a holy God.
If we are sinful, we are not without hope.

I am sinful. I sin. But because I know I sin, I can ask forgiveness.

(Who asks forgiveness for sin they haven't committed?)

The most gracious (in the truest sense of the word, that is, filled with grace), hope-filled, loving thing we can do for ourselves and others is to admit that we sin, that we are in the wrong, but that God has made provision for us through Christ.
And because of all this,
we
can
change.

That's what I'm thankful for this Thanksgiving.