My curious relationship with sin

There was a time in my life I had a curious relationship with sin. Thinking about it now, I can see the insanity of it. Back then, though, I thought it made perfect sense. I would coddle my sin for fear that, if the truth of it be known, my armor of faith would be cracked. I disguised my faults, dumbing them down or claiming “it happened once and never again,” knowing full well there would be a next time. 

I wove cautiously chosen words and filtered what was reality into a well-crafted image that would, inevitably, receive the world’s understanding. Carefully curated pseudo-confessions would be quickly justified with reminders of the limitations of my humanness. Wrongdoing accounted for, slate wiped clean, the earthly victory would be claimed, for the moment. 

The question, I believe, or perhaps the choice we are asked to make, is whether we seek an earthly victory or heavenly surrender. In that season of my curious relationship with sin, I chose the former.  

Dumbing down and disguising was by no means malicious; it was desperation. My justifying was an attempt to gain love. I had learned it through performance-based relationships and so I was sure to gain His love; it was imperative I performed at all costs. It was of utmost importance I was not seen as less than. My entire worth depended on it.

What I did not understand was what I thought would crack the armor had already made it past the perimeter. So much for the victory.

I had it all wrong. Despite my best attempts to sweep sin away, unless it is fully confessed, I carry it with me, as thorns that pierce my heart. My efforts were futile, considering there is no place I can go, no depths, no heights that can hide me, all of me, faults and flaws included, from Him and His love. 

There is no gaining what I have been freely given. The thought that I somehow could now seems, well, curious. If I knew then what I know now, my curious relationship with sin would have been ended years before it did.

Truth is, my Lord Jesus knows my exhaustion from performance-based relationships, tenderly massages my devasting hurts, and listens to my deepest longing; He sees me as I am, not through a filtered lens of my choosing, and He loves me. Period. Because of that, there is no longer a need for victories, but only for the sustained surrender. 

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This is part of the series called “The Human Being Fully Alive” found here.