A few months after the arrival of our little girl, my husband casually mentioned something he had been thinking about during his morning time with the Lord. The quote itself was powerful, but the timing of the quote—as a new mom—made it heartbreaking.
“You’ll never understand how much God loves you until you understand how much God loved Jesus.”
The words sound empty and hollow, even to me.
I’m on autopilot, saying the things I know would get me an A in an English course,
but mean nothing to the one I’m talking to.
I say sorry for the millionth time,
and for the millionth time we both know I would do it again. Maybe even tonight. Repeat. Repent. Repeat. Repent.
Please, God, break this shell. Get through to me.
Forbid me. Punish me.
I was going through an old journal, and found this entry I wrote about prayer when I was in high school. I was struggling with an addiction at the time and felt like repentance was losing its meaning. I would apologize, agonize, and then fall into the same temptation again. The problem was that I had a flawed definition of repentance and I was trying to break an addiction by myself.