I'm very hard on myself at times, though I know the Lord doesn't want me to be. When I accepted Him, he blotted out all of the wicked things I said and did during that part of my life during which I rebelled against Him.
Satan often reminds me of my past, replaying scenes from my life when I spitefully used people, and hurt the people who loved me, placing stumbling blocks in front of some, all in an effort to keep them at my level. There was a time I hated to see anyone around me blessed. I was stuck in the quagmire of my own sinful lifestyle and I just seethed in anger whenever one of my buddies would land a promotion at work, meet the girl of his dreams, or managed to buy that new car or make a down payment on that first home. I'd see them happy and think, "Why are they being blessed over me? They're just as sinful as I am!"
My dad often told me that there was no such thing as friends. A man had to look out for himself, and if somebody was in your way, you moved him. Afterall, it wasn't your fault if the other fellow couldn't "hack it". Only the strong survived. And to be strong, a man had to be willing to do whatever was necessary to secure his place at the top of the food chain.
He spent more than 30-years in the U.S. Army. He fought in World War II, Korea, Vietnam, and a half-dozen little wars most history books never recorded. And he used that disciplined, military instruction to drive his points home day after day after day, for years. I hated him and loved him at the same time. Most of all I feared and respected him. So did a lot of other people. And I wanted to be the same way, so I tried to become him.
The problem was, where my dad had been a success, I was a failure. Without God in my life I was failing at everything I put my hand to. At school, at work, in my personal relationships.
I accused God of playing favorites, and just sunk down deeper into the pit I had started digging for myself in early adolescence. And it wasn't until I hit rock bottom several years ago and contemplated suicide that I came to my senses and recognized (almost too late) that I and the choices I had made were the root cause of all my pain and suffering. The only one who could make things right was the Lord. And so, like the prodigal son, I went back "home", ashamed and hoping that the Almighty Father would have mercy enough to allow me to become the most menial of his servants. Instead, he grabbed me up in His arms, kissed me and restored me to my previous station as a son. Everything was forgotten.
So when Satan begins to accuse me and remind me of all the terrible things I did, I need to remember who I am. I am the son of a King. And I have nothing to be ashamed of anymore.
Thanks for reminding me.
