The Struggle for Godliness

My church is going through a sermon series over James. As part of this series, one of our pastors asked us this week to talk to people close to us and ask them if they see godliness in us. This terrifies me, because most days lately, I don't see it. Most days all I see is my self-centered heart that is too easily frustrated. When I evaluate my current state, I think that I am the most selfish I have ever been. I search my heart and what I find there more often than not is cries of "what about me?"

I used to walk the scant border between servant-hearted and people pleaser. I never asked for anything I wanted for fear that the very request would impede upon the desires of another. I always put myself last. Sometimes it was from a genuine desire to serve others and put them before myself. Other times it was out of a desire to make others like me. Fear of man in it's realist form. In those times, the forfeit of my desires was given with a dose of resentment. Sinful. I was appearing godly and selfless when what I really wanted was acknowledgement of my selflessness. Look how holy I am! The cry of a Pharisee.

In my last relationship, it was often both of those motivations. I have never been half hearted about my emotions or my passions. I feel deeply. I love deeply, much like I hurt deeply, or rejoice deeply. I wanted to serve him. But I also wanted to be everything he needed. And I wanted to keep the peace. And I wanted him to put me first as I did for him. So many sin-bound motives. After our relationship ended, I looked at the empty mess I had become. I had given and given and given, and through little fault of his own, he had taken so much of me. He was a good man, he tried to love and lead and serve me well. But how could he have, when he had no idea what I needed? And how could he know when I never told him.

I couldn't see that though. All I could see was the gaping wound with all my unmet needs bleeding out. And so I changed. I began looking out for myself. Asking for what I wanted. Demanding it. When I was lost in the storm of his leaving, I was doing everything I could to survive. I know I was unbearable to be around at that time, but I can look back and say as honestly as I can that I was struggling well. I was pressing into the Lord as hard as I could, seeking him for everything I needed. But I know, all that came out of me at that point was bitterness and mourning, and snappy comments wrought with a wrath and a sadness I couldn't control. I wrapped that selfishness around me as a sort of protection to keep myself from falling apart. But I was trying. With everything in me I was trying to be a better person. A new person.

But now? Now I have joy again. I have healing and breath and deep relationships and everything to be able to say "life is good." But I find myself still being that same selfish person. Still snapping when I have no reason. Still being frustrated over things that are not worth the time. I live on "I'm sorry's" And "Please forgive me's" more than I ever have in my life. Part of me misses being the people pleaser, while the other half doesn't want to let go of this bold person who asks for what she wants.

I think, somehow, both of these women are me. And neither is fully right or fully wrong. Somewhere there is a balance between being a servant-hearted person and one who is humbly bold to ask for what we want. From others and from the Lord. Where that balance is, I don't know, I've never been particularly graceful or balanced, but oh, I am looking for it.

And what I'm realizing is that the closer I get to godliness, the more "I'm sorry's" I'll probably have to give. I always viewed sanctification as sinning less, but I think it must also be repenting more. In my mind, I still picture some future wise version of me that doesn't sin, but I know that will never be in this world. The future version of me will still sin, though hopefully a little less, but she will probably apologize more. So as humbling as those two words are, maybe that's the point. Humility is a hard thing to attain. The more you try to grasp it, the more pride gets in the way. But I can say there is no room for pride in repentance or apologies and I am grateful for the uncomfortableness of humility.

So yes, I am terrified of asking those close to me if they see godliness in me. But I'm going to ask anyway because I want to be godly more than I want to be comfortable. I want to spend my life pleasing the Lord, not trying to appease him.

My pastor ends every sermon with communion so that in the midst of the weightiness, we are always reminded of the truth of the gospel, and I'm so grateful for that, because I need it in times like this. It's the most beautiful part; that no matter how much I succeed or how much I fail, Christ has already paid for me. He is rejoicing over ever single baby step. And those failures day after day are already paid for because he knew. He knew that we were going to struggle. That we were going to fall and be selfish, or self-righteous, or angry, or bitter. He knew and he took that sin upon himself so we could be free from it's grasp. So even as I mourn the sin in me today, He has already paid for it so tomorrow he can pick me up and we can start again. That is the hope of the gospel. And maybe tomorrow I'll take one more baby step toward godliness.