In the light of all that God is, my imperfections cast shadows that cover everything I see. The frailty of my humanity stands out starkly, like a dark, twisted blemish cowering in the light. Cowering, but unable to hide—caught like a deer in headlights, stilled in the brilliant expanse of His righteousness.
And each time I catch a glimpse of myself, the brokenness is like a stab in the heart. How can I bear it? I long for the gloriousness of the light, the beauty of His Righteousness, and wish—oh, how I wish!—to reach out and hold some of it within myself. Not to claim the glory of it as my own—but to somehow, anyhow, belong to the glory. Instead of this wretched shadow that I see.
And yet…
Compared to the shadow of everything I am, the light, the utter radiance of my Jesus, stands out like a beaming beacon in the fog. Looking out of the darkness, my darkness, a single glimpse of His beauty steals my breath away. The very imperfection that makes me broken is the shadow that sets off, in some small way, the utter glory of the light.
And somehow, because of Jesus, the light overcomes the shadows. Chases my darkness away. I can never deserve that. Jesus knows it—but He died for me anyway. And these shadows that I cast, broken and imperfect as they are, are no longer shadows of wretchedness.
Instead, by the perfect love of God, they have become shadows of Grace.
