Don't Call Me Good

“I’m selfish, impatient, and a little insecure.  I make mistakes, I’m hard to handle and a little out of control. But if you can’t handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best.” – Marilyn Monroe

I was the “good” one growing up.  The one who never gave my parents any trouble.  I always, according to them, knew when to stop.  Unlike my sister, who loved to push my parents buttons.  All the way to their breaking point.  But the funny thing is, I didn’t feel “good”. 

I wanted to try things growing up.  Cigarettes, alcohol, speeding.  But why? I mean, if I was the good one, shouldn’t I want to be good?  I tried to live up to the expectations I felt, but failed…miserably.  So in the end, I didn’t become good, instead I learned how to lie.

I lied to my parents about where I was going, what I was doing and who I was with.  And when I got caught doing something wrong, I learned how to lie a little better. But I hated living in lies.  I wanted to tell my parents that they got it wrong.  I’m not the “good” one.  In my heart, I knew I could be selfish, I knew I had a short temper, and I was impatient.  And good people are not selfish and impatient or angry. 

So I continued to lie, and I continued to hide that side of me.  But I didn’t just hide it from my parents, I also hid it from God.  Because if I couldn’t live up to my parents expectations, I sure as hell couldn’t live up to His. 

But then I met Jesus.  The real Jesus.  The Jesus who loved the adulteress. The Jesus who loved the woman at the well.  The Jesus who loved the sinners. The Jesus who died for me on the cross, because He knew that I wasn’t “good”.  He knew I was human. That I would make mistakes, that I would want to do the wrong thing sometimes.  But he didn’t wait for me to get my act together,  He died for me while I was not “good.” 

He loved me at my worst.  So every day I give Him my best, even when my best is my worst.