“It is you, O priests, who show contempt for my name.” But you ask, `How have we shown contempt for your name?’ Malachi 1:6

Defensiveness runs in my bones. When someone is upset with me, my instinct is often to prove my innocence. It takes humility to stay quiet when someone names something in me that I don’t want to see. “I’m sorry” can be one of the hardest things to pry loose from my proud interior.

What happens when God brings sin to my attention? What defense could possibly stand? He is holy. His vision is undistorted. He knows the architecture of my heart better than I do. To argue with His verdict is not strength. It is arrogance aimed at my Creator.

Why was I afraid, earlier in life, to ask forgiveness from the very One who longed to give it? Probably because I did not yet trust Love. As long as I remained suspicious of Him, I could not afford to be wrong. I protected myself with self-righteousness. My fear of losing His love made honesty feel too dangerous.

Only love strong enough to survive the truth heals shame. I will lay my soul open without bargaining, hiding, or editing what He already sees. And perhaps this is the strange beauty of sanctification: I begin with “I’m sorry.” God answers, “You are forgiven.” And finally, relieved of the exhausting work of defending myself, I can finally say, “Ok, You can have all of me.”

Make me teachable when my spirit burns with conviction. Amen