Holding On to the Guilt and Shame Didn't Keep Me from Sinning

This post is an excerpt from Wherever Your Are by Emily Assell. Published with permission from Tyndale House Publishers.

“I’m sorry. Gabe, I’m so sorry.”

I had let my anger get out of control. I yelled rough things at him. I hurt him with my words. His face dropped, and his sister Natalie looked at me with eyes wide and scared. Despite my apology and their quiet murmurs of forgiveness, I felt shame descend on me as my children quickly headed to a different room to avoid being screamed at once more.

I was still in the middle of carrying out a victory over anger. With God’s help, I had overcome its stronghold in my life. That didn’t mean I never messed up. It meant anger no longer controlled me. But I had to make the decision to use the strategies and truths I had learned. My eruptions were becoming less and less frequent, but I still yelled and failed more than I wanted—especially with the stress of a new baby and minimal sleep.

I repented, but I continued to feel ashamed. I knew better. Can I really ask forgiveness for the same thing I did last week and might do again tomorrow? I also worried I was causing more damage to Gabe’s heart than just the sad face and broken spirit in the moment. The consequences of my actions were not mine alone to bear.

It wasn’t only the anger. There were so many times throughout the day when I did, thought, or said the wrong thing, no matter how hard I tried. I considered myself a complete failure as a mom and couldn’t reconcile the words of God’s promises with the sin and shortcomings I was still struggling with. How could I believe I was holy and live in the reality of my failures at the same time?

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As a child in Sunday school, I loved singing a song based on Titus 3:5. “He [God our Savior] saved us, not because of the righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy.” I grew up hearing that we don’t earn our salvation. And in school, I had memorized Bible verses about how our faith is what counts as righteousness. But I also knew the verses about how we were supposed to live and act.

All of this led me to inadvertently create my own twisted version of the truth that went like this: I still believed that when I messed up, God forgave me and continued to call me his child. But I also began to suspect that God was low-key annoyed with me. That he rolled his eyes (or whatever the divine equivalent would be) when I asked his forgiveness.

I imagined a God who was required to forgive me but secretly whispered, “Really? Again?” to his Son, who laid down everything just to see me trip up and stumble repeatedly over the same things. In my mind, God only listened to my prayers, granted me his help, and blessed me when I had sufficiently groveled and apologized for how I had previously wronged him or others.

And even after I had repented, I couldn’t be joyful. Surely being penitent and downtrodden for the rest of the day was a much better sign of true repentance than joy. How could I be joyful when I had caused pain to God and others I loved?

At night, instead of sleeping, I would review what I had done wrong that day, always vowing to myself and to God to do better. I unconsciously believed that holding on to my shame and punishing myself would keep me from messing up again.

Not surprisingly, this wasn’t working well. Who wants to talk to someone they think is disappointed and angry with them? Who wants to dream with someone they believe will remind them of their failures every time they misstep? And I definitely didn’t want to have my morning coffee with someone I thought required self-abasement before he would extend his love or true forgiveness.

As my relationship with God grew more and more distant, my sin seemed to move closer and closer. Holding on to the guilt and shame didn’t keep me from sinning—it just kept me from God.

Ironically, the very thing that I thought would condemn me actually freed me. I started reading through the Bible in a different translation that made it harder to skip over verses I had memorized and sang songs about but had not really ever “heard.” Jesus is the Word (John 1:1), and he is also the Truth (John 14:6). So the more time I spent with the Word, the more time I spent with the Truth. And that Truth began to set me free (John 8:32).

One of the first passages that caught my heart was Matthew 6:9-13. In these verses, Jesus taught his disciples (and us) how to pray. That prayer, known as the Lord’s Prayer, starts with the words “Our Father.” Jesus emphasized that before anything else—before we confess our sin, before we praise God’s very worthy name, before we call for his Kingdom to come, strategize about our to-do list, or ask for all we need—before all of those important and very good things—he wants us to know him as Father.

Immediately, I thought of my own kids and how my whole being overflowed with joy when I lifted my daughter out of her crib in the morning. I would cover her face with kisses and snuggle her close. And even with my older teenage son, I am thrilled beyond measure when he plops down on the couch next to me. I shoulder up next to him, listening and laughing, encouraging him when needed.

Spending time with my children is a priceless blessing that makes me glad. All my children’s failures don’t come rushing to mind. I don’t require them to apologize or listen to a lecture before I can love them or listen to their dreams and concerns. Yes, just as a parent wants the best for their child, God knows, addresses, and deals with our shortcomings and failures. He desires that we learn from them and course-correct when needed—for our own good and for the good of his Kingdom, not to satisfy his justice. Jesus already did that.

The more I read, the more my eyes were opened. I cried out with Paul,

“I want to do what is right, but I can’t. I want to do what is good, but I don’t. I don’t want to do what is wrong, but I do it anyway” (Romans 7:18-19). But then I continued on to the next chapter: “So now there is no condemnation for those who belong to Christ Jesus” (Romans 8:1).

And in Galatians I read, “When I tried to keep the law, it condemned me. So I died to the law—I stopped trying to meet all its requirements—so that I might live for God” (Galatians 2:19). Book after book, verse after verse, I heard the same message echoing throughout the entire New Testament.

The truth was that Jesus’ blood had already purchased my freedom and my forgiveness (Ephesians 1:7). What pleased God was my faith and my relationship with him, not my perfection. I was wrong about so many things, especially the heart of my Father. So I set out to relearn the truth and then to live it out.

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I remember one of the first times this new understanding was tested. It had been a bit since I had lost my temper, but my patience had been stretched thin during homeschooling that morning. Then later in the day, Gabe and Natalie’s playing turned into fighting, and the noise woke up the baby I had just put down for a nap. I erupted with my “scary scream.” As my children trudged away, the Holy Spirit quickly convicted me. I repented to God and asked for forgiveness and help to change.

But when I apologized to my children, my son said, “I don’t forgive you. I’m still angry at you. You said you were going to try and not yell at us anymore. You lied.” I apologized again and explained as best I could that overcoming and changing is a process, not an overnight fix. But he was unmoved. I was heartbroken. My old familiar script rushed to my mind. He’s right. I am a liar and a bad mom. I’ll remember this and not do it again.

As I continued to embrace the pain and punishment of Gabe’s words, the Holy Spirit cut in and said, “Who do you believe?”

“But . . . but I hurt him.”

“Yes. And God said you were forgiven. Who do you believe?”

Long pause.

The words I had been reading came to mind, and I declared out loud, “I am forgiven by God. It’s okay to be upset by the hurt I cause but not to punish myself with it. Jesus’ sacrifice does not require my pain or misery in order to make it complete. I can move forward right now in joy and peace. I will not give away the rest of my day to defeat. I am loved, accepted, and holy right now. I choose to believe you.”

Gabe did eventually forgive me. And as I continued to defiantly reject condemnation and shame, I saw an unexpected result: The mercy I accepted from God began to more easily overflow out of me to my children and family. I was slower to anger and quicker to listen and forgive. God, the Word, and the Spirit changed me by changing the way that I thought (Romans 12:2).

All our striving and self-shaming cannot bring us victory. I love how Romans 8:3-4 reads in The Message:

God went for the jugular when he sent his own Son. He didn’t deal with the problem as something remote and unimportant. In his Son, Jesus, he personally took on the human condition, entered the disordered mess of struggling humanity in order to set it right once and for all. . . . The law always ended up being used as a Band-Aid on sin instead of a deep healing of it. And now what the law code asked for but we couldn’t deliver is accomplished as we, instead of redoubling our own efforts, simply embrace what the Spirit is doing in us.

I don’t mean that we should ignore the Holy Spirit’s call to freedom or his power that allows us to overcome. But don’t misunderstand what Jesus died to give you. When he cried out from the cross, “It is finished!” (John 19:30) and gave up his spirit, Jesus “finished” all the requirements for your salvation and for your identity as God’s child.

PRAYER

Father God, as we spend time with you and your Word, transform the way we think. May your Word find good soil in our hearts and minds. May your truth multiply and produce a large harvest in our lives and in the lives of those we love. Thank you, Jesus, for making us holy. Thank you for your sacrifice that allows us to come boldly before the Father’s throne.

In the precious name of Jesus, we pray all of this. Amen.