It hit me in the shower this morning—steam rising, mist splashing in the tiny stall—trying to scrub off feelings of sin and failure.
This is the gospel: me falling on my face.
I can’t get up tomorrow and hope to be stronger or wiser or less filled with sin. It is in me. It stitches me together and pulls me tight.
And yet, this is grace: unbinding the stitches—one by one—and piecing me back into wholeness.
This is mercy: that in my tripping and falling, I am lifted to my feet.
This is love: that in my darkest darkness, my most grotesque sin, Christ died for me.
It is timeless Truth to be repeated with ceaseless thanks:
I need Jesus.
May I learn it and feel it and deepen in this understanding each day. The gospel is for me today and tomorrow, at 26 and at 96.