We have absolutely no claim to our lives. None whatsoever. You made us. You sustain us. You died for us while we were yet sinners. You sanctify us. We are quite literally nothing apart from you. We would not exist without you. You are WHO YOU ARE, but we are who you made us to be.
When will we learn that we live solely to serve you? When will we accept that? We commit treason every day. Cosmic treason. We betray you with our thoughts, words, and deeds. You, our maker and sustainer! We killed you, and somehow we’re still breathing. The sun still rose this morning. You still love us. You’re still saving us. And we’ll send you to the Cross again tomorrow. But still you’ll be our shepherd. It’s unfathomable. Your mercies really are new every morning.
We curse you with the very breath you put in our lungs. We strike you with the very strength you wove into our bones. We live and move and have our being in you, and we take that life and make it hostile to you. We are miserable sinners, each and every one of us.
Yet you condescend to dwell in us? It’s a mystery of mercy. We are ashamed, humbled, confused, and ceaselessly grateful for that mystery, but our minds stagger beneath the weight of it. We are overcome by your goodness and undone by your grace. It restores us faster than we can fall. We are drowning in your mercy. It washes us clean more quickly than we can stain our hands crimson.