Thankful peace

21 Nov, 2025

I've struggled my whole life with conflicting messages I've heard about God's attention toward us.

On the one hand I grew up hearing stories of Jesus coming as our Savior, our Prince of Peace, our Messiah. He described himself as a mother hen, a shepherd, a searcher of lost coins; all positive ways of seeing our relationship to God. These stories inspired me and made me curious about what it'd meant to draw closer to a God described in such beautiful terms.

At the same time I also heard stories of judgment, of condemnation—a God looking at our faults, waiting to catch us in our wrongs, and calling us out like wayward children. I imagined a judgement seat, with billions lined up awaiting condemnation. I thought of bears gobbling up children, with stern representations of authority admiring the results. I thought of all the rules I had to keep, and attempted to pick my way through each with detailed precision. I tried to connect my observance of Sabbath to picking up sticks in the Bible. One ankle too far into the swimming pool and God would strike me dead, open up the earth, or draw down fire from heaven to condemn my missteps.

I focused on all the ways I was wrong, and how judgement awaited, that I missed the whole point of the prodigal son, and why that parable was shared in the first place.

All those sweet stories of Jesus loving children were just that—stories for children. They weren't the real meat of the Bible. Grown-ups knew better.

I felt shame for the areas where I wasn't good enough.

When I failed at reaching the heavenly ideal I inevitably blamed myself, and promised to do better next time. The guilt drove me toward further action, but action based on the false premise that I could improve based on iron determination.

That spirit influenced my way of thinking about the world. I became judgmental of others. I looked at outward appearances, trying to determine if the lifestyle of those around me was less holy than the ideal I was myself striving to meet.

All this lead toward a downward spiral. I'd mess up, promise to do better, and grit my teeth in pursuit of fleeting moments of false perfection.

The attitude I had about my own life—a person incapable of an idealized humanity, but still striving to meet it on my own—became a reflection of how I treated others.

I wasn't the most fun person to be around.

Then, slowly, bit by bit, I realized that I'd been wrong the whole time. It started with three Bible verses.

I didn't understand the first thing about grace, I didn't have a single inclination of what salvation was all about. I'd believed the very first lie ever told, and was trying to be a god in my own life.

Then Jesus found me.

He'd been searching my whole life, but I'd finally seen it. I felt His presence, His attempts to touch my heart. I'd missed it, so focused on my own struggles in the mud that I didn't look up to see His arm reached out to pull me upward.

I'm still on that journey, but now with a smile on my face.

I still find myself looking inward, trying to be a god in my own life, imagining that I can make myself holy and perfect with my own strength.

This oft repeated lie has a compelling weight to it. There's an odd comfort to wallowing in our own mistakes, in beating ourselves up, and telling ourselves that we are mere dirt. It allows us to live the lie of self sufficiency, of owning our mistakes and also owning the possibility of our perfection.

But Jesus has a better way, and He calls unceasingly to us with a parent's embrace.

I decided that I'd either need to find this Jesus of my childhood—this God that truly loved us without restraint—or give up on the notion of belief altogether.

That stark choice has been freeing.

Instead of trying to mesh conflicting ideas—attempted perfection of myself against acceptance of Jesus' unending care toward us—I chose to focus on Jesus alone. Anything I held in opposition to my Savior was either misunderstood, misapplied, or simply wrong.

That doesn't mean I have it all figured out. It's still a daily, moment by moment, struggle where I'm wavering between attempts at perfection and acceptance of Jesus' outstretched hand.

And you what?

I finally realized that Jesus gets that. He understands the struggle, and with a hopeful smile he calls out to offer the solution to our problems.

With Thanksgiving on us, I'm taking a moment to be thankful for my Jesus, my Friend, my Savior.

He didn't have to do it—to give it all up for us on that tree—but really? He actually did. There was no other choice in His mind other than to do anything for His children. That's just who Jesus is.

So, rather than focus on my wrongs (which are many) I'm choosing to focus on the beautiful character of our Messiah, to accept His warm embrace, and allow Him to work in my life and change me from the inside out.

And those three Bible verses? Years ago a kind pastor pointed me to a concept that changed how I thought about God.

“For by His loving-favor you have been saved from the punishment of sin through faith. It is not by anything you have done. It is a gift of God. It is not given to you because you worked for it. If you could work for it, you would be proud. We are His work. He has made us to belong to Christ Jesus so we can work for Him. He planned that we should do this“ Ephesians 2:10.

He loved us, so He started a plan to save us. All we have to do is accept it—because after all this I've learned that God will force nothing, only offer non-coercive love.