I’m a mess. The entire human race is a mess because of sin. But that’s not how God made us. He made us perfect and made no mistakes.
He made ME perfect. And made no mistakes.
However, it’s SO difficult to love myself. I don’t like myself. I don’t think anyone else does either – and when they do, I’m truly and honestly surprised. Every time. I find it easy to ask “why am I like this?” and very, very difficult, if not impossible, to say “thank you God that you made me me”.
But who are you, a human being, to talk back to God? Shall what is formed say to the one who formed it, ‘Why did you make me like this?’
There. By complaining how I’m so bad and useless and stupid and failure and what else, I’m saying to God that He made a mistake with me. But I can’t say that to Him, can I? Well, of course I can, but that’s not a fair thing to say. It’s not true.
Instead, I think I should say:
“How did You make me? How did You mean me to be? What would I be like, if I was indeed perfectly as You meant me to be? How can I become more like you meant me?”
David understood this and thanked God for it:
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
In the Finnish Bible this is translated “I am a miracle“. I love that. The idea always fills me with awe. If only I could truly understand that with my heart and believe it and claim it.
Sometimes I’ve heard teaching that the passage “Love your neighbor as yourself” (Matthew 22:36-40) means that you must love yourself. If you don’t love yourself, you can’t love your neighbour either. I don’t know if that’s true, but it makes me think if that’s why my spiritual life seems to be going nowhere?
I can’t remember having felt loved during my childhood. I remember constantly feeling that I was “excess” or a “spare”. To my father, it seemed, nothing was enough. No matter how good my report card was, there always was something that should’ve been even better. And to my sister I was an idiot and a pain in the b*tt. Mom… can’t remember any fondness from her either. So it’s very, very difficult to believe that anyone, including God, would ever accept me as I am.
But God says I’m a miracle. I want to believe that. After all, He knows best, right?