Better Than No One

"I wish I was good enough for you" or "I wish I deserved you"

Those words make my heart ache. We all have our insecurities...when I'm around some people I feel like they have so much more strength and faith than me... that I'm not nice enough, or pretty enough or spiritual enough. Life can be shallow and wordly views can make every last person be our "competition." Sometimes I hear those words myself... that someone things that "you can do better than him" or "you don't deserve me." ... Bottom line, I don't want ANYONE to ever think they aren't "good enough" for me or don't "deserve" me or anyone else because of mistakes they have made or imperfections they have. I have never sworn, watched rated r movies... yes, but I HAVE sinned and I know I will sin again and again. I have made numberless mistakes and just because someone may think there mistakes are greater, does not in turn make me a greater person.

Someone could have stolen millions of items, gone through hundreds of boyfriends/girlfriends, smoked weed every single day... and then one day decided they were wrong. One day decided to settle down, start a family. If they recognized their wrongs, repented of their sins, felt remorse, changed, stopped... then through the atonement of Jesus Christ their slate is cleared. This person with such a history and reputation is now pure. Daily we can be cleansed, weekly, monthly... repentance is amazing.

I don't smoke weed or start gangs, I don't have this delinquent past, but that doesn't make me better. Sometimes I feel like such a failure because I can't please everyone. I can't be the person everyone expects me to be. I can't be there for everyone who needs me. 

The way I look at it? If someone does something terrible... feels TERRIBLE about it, and then goes through the steps to be forgiven and try to do better, then you have learned so much more than the person who commits the same "smaller" sins day after day.

If you make a mistake... then learn from it and grow from it... then you are strong, not weak. It's when you "don't make any mistakes" where the problem is. Everyone makes mistakes... and no matter what you've done... we should always love each other. We should always forgive. Friends betray, humans lie, people cheat and cause problems day after day, but we have done the same in our own lives... and our creator, our Savior will never forsake us. 

So, "He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her[/him]." -John 8:7

I know the thought of a long story is always boring, but nothing tells life better than this story. 

The Room by Brian Moore 

"In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction, had very different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "Girls I have liked." I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one. And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. 

This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match. A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. 

A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I have betrayed." The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird "Books I Have Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed at." Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've yelled at my brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger", "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents." I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. 

Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature. 

When I pulled out the file marked "TV Shows I have watched", I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of shows but more by the vast wasted time I knew that file represented. 

When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. 

I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In insane frenzy I yanked the file out . Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it. 

Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh. 

And then I saw it.. The title was "People I Have Shared the Gospel With." The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand. 

And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt. They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw! Him. 

No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. 

He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one? Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me. 

Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card. "No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. 

He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished." I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written."