Into the Fire

Many of us have things in our past we don’t want the world to know. Some of us even have things in our present we don’t want the world to know. I’m not talking about losing our temper and yelling at our children or using a cuss word at the outer limits of our patience or being so frustrated in traffic that we returned the middle finger salute after receiving the gesture.

I’m talking about the ugliest and most personal of offenses—those things we’d rather forget ever existed in our lives. For Christians we can take solace in the Blood of the Lamb if we were directly responsible for the particular circumstances because we are cleansed by its purifying power. However, the memories still often sting or remind or torture us with the fact(s) that we committed certain acts and cannot deny they were once a part of who we were at the time.

This does not refer to those victims of heinous acts committed against some such as sexual abuse, rape, incest, physical or emotional abuse—any of those things which victimized and destroyed lives, leaving permanent scars. The only healing for those is through the love and mercy of the Lord Jesus Christ, and those victims of such things frequently seek His grace to go on throughout their lifetimes.

No. I’m referring to our own messes. Those things we have done either purposefully or spontaneously which have netted ugly results and remain a nagging reminder of what we could be since we once were.

I spent 30 years of my life without Jesus Christ. Some of you can’t imagine or remember life without Jesus. If we compared notes of our worst moments, you might be stunned at mine, and I might laugh at what you regarded as “bad”. I’m aware that sin is sin. There isn’t a rating for offenses. One act of disobedience constitutes sin. We’re all born into corruption. Some of us just stretch the boundaries of that farther than others.

Unlike some, I wanted to be “good”, but the extenuating circumstances of not knowing what I lacked in a relationship with the Savior led me down the wrong path, slowly but surely. It’s hard to believe at times some of the things I did because in my heart they were so contrary to who I really was. The thing is . . . being “good” didn’t make me happy so maybe being “bad” would. Honestly, nothing did. “Happy” was elusive. That’s not to say I didn’t have some fun being bad. But it was fleeting. And the regrets piled up so high, it seemed they’d never be overcome.

Those parts of my life directly affect my writing. They are seen in characters, captured in situations, noted in conduct. They are fully exposed although incognito, written into novels and contained in composites of people, places, and things I have known or experienced. If I failed to use them in some way, all they would remain are markers of sinful activities which suited no purpose other than to mess up the lives involved. By including them in stories, perhaps they might ring true for someone else who lives “bad” but desires “good”. Just maybe God can use them to turn someone away from the emptiness of being lost.

Suffice it to say: I won’t be running for office. I’d have too much upfront confessing to cover before they could dig it up, you know?

Father, your forgiveness is superior to all sin. How can that be? I love you, Lord. I’m desperate for you. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.