“We are truly sorry and we humbly repent.” How many times have I prayed this, oh Lord? I cannot count and, frankly, I do not want to. Instead I say it over and over again: “I have not loved you with my whole heart. I have not loved my neighbor as myself.”
You made the sun and it gives life. The bulbs on my windowsill are beginning to emerge. And the sun warms where there is only cold. This weekend I had to work outside for several hours. There was a biting wind but I found relief when I stepped beneath the sun’s rays.
But the sun can also burn and kill. It steals water from desperate tongues in the desert. It scorches skin. Melanoma.
I feel at times like I am as the sun, dear God, mostly in negative ways. I shine on the desert, I pour out my self-absorption and self-devotion, much more than I bring gentle, subtle, and humble relief to those I love who might be shivering in the wind. Where life is needed, where there is need for life to be given, I am more concerned with my own needs. If I were the literally sun I would hide my rays to preserve myself.
Those who struggle to forgive themselves, who struggle to let your grace pour into and through them, they struggle to be a conduit of your grace to others. Help me to forgive myself for the that from which you have also pardoned me. Help me to allow your grace to enter my heart, so that from it, grace might also shine.
You are the Lord of light. Heal me in your light. That I might be a light to others.