Every day I try. Every day I fail. Every night I fall into bed, attempting to comfort myself with determination that tomorrow I will live as I should live and love as I should love. Then tomorrow comes. And I fail again. And I fall again. And my fuse is short and my faith is weak and I'm not who I want to be. And I'm not who He's called me to be. But still I desperately cling to what I know is truth. The only true comfort that I know - My God's mercies are new every morning.
Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. Lamentations 3
I can carry one day of failure, but no more. And he doesn't even expect me to carry that. So He sent his Son. The only Son He had. And every day, my failures die with Him.
I keep waiting for that day when I will lay my head down on my pillow feeling like I finally managed to pull it off. Like I finally went an entire day without complaining or yelling at my kids or judging someone or making selfish decisions. But deep down I know that if that day ever came, the beauty of His grace would begin to fade. So I've decided that instead I will lay my head down acknowledging that I have failed yet again, but I will rest anyway knowing that Jesus holds my victory in the palm of His hand. I think it's safer with Him anyway.