When he asks me to forgive him, it’s harder than I think. Not to say the words eventually, but to be quick and true to it.
Then on a morning when there is soup and sunshine and all the blinds are up, I hear it.
That Jesus…not dutiful, obliged or bound, is faithful to forgive.
Faithful, even in our anguished false guilt. Even in our efforts of humility.
He’s there the same. Gently lifting us when we give up, saying take hope. This too I’ve died for.
Not like your wife, husband or child, but faithful to forgive every time. No patience running out, no blood misspent. No rolling of His gracious eyes.
And the smallness I feel when I think of this Grace, is where I want to spend the rest of my days. Free from the weight of failure and striving to offend Him least.
Let me walk in this softly, Lord.