When troubles ganged up on me, a mob of sins past counting, I was so swamped by guilt I couldn’t see my way clear. More guilt in my heart than hair on my head, so heavy the guilt that my heart gave out. -Psalm 40:12
My artist friend made a sculpture of a gaping uterus that she keeps in her living room. She has sculptures built around soft fabric and tissue sewn under layers and layers of paper and burlap. All of her work is like that. The delicate wrapped in the tough. Metal covering fabric. She had a hollow sculpture that was unfinished white plaster on the outside, but painted in vibrant colors on the inside. Nobody could see the beauty she created on the inside.
Her art is a constant attempt to recreate a uterus strong enough to protect her baby from the abortion she had years ago. This mother’s hands were continually trying to make up for not protecting her or her child the way she, now, wishes she had.
Her little beauty on the inside. Unfinished. Nobody would see the beauty she created.
She sat across from me with art stained fingernails and seasoned tears. The survivor.
When a woman becomes pregnant, she is a mommy. Two heartbeats, then one. They can dispose of the inside, but the shell, the mommy, is still there.
We go through this life making a decision one day that we wish we could take back the next. Some things can be adequately fixed, but some can’t. It’s the things that can’t that leave us wrecked.
We spend our lives trying to make up for it, but it’s when we realize that we can’t that we begin to heal. There is nothing you can do to take back the pain your sin has caused. Even if you became the best you could be and never made another mistake, it wouldn’t be enough to change what you’ve done.
Forgiving ourselves and accepting God’s grace is not saying that what we did was okay. Nothing will make that okay. When we forgive ourselves and accept God’s grace, we’re saying that what Jesus did was bigger than what we did. We have a hard time because we think it’s a statement about our worth, but it’s not. It’s a statement about His.
It’s time to let go. What’s done is done.
Soak me in your laundry and I’ll come out clean, scrub me and I’ll have a snow-white life. Tune me in to foot-tapping songs, set these once-broken bones to dancing. Don’t look too close for blemishes, give me a clean bill of health. God, make a fresh start in me, shape a Genesis week from the chaos of my life. Don’t throw me out with the trash, or fail to breathe holiness in me. Bring me back from gray exile, put a fresh wind in my sails! Give me a job teaching rebels your ways so the lost can find their way home. Commute my death sentence, God, my salvation God, and I’ll sing anthems to your life-giving ways. Unbutton my lips, dear God; I’ll let loose with your praise. -Psalm 51:7-15