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  • Writer's pictureweakdave

A week and a half later,

I am still enjoying the bliss of being WorthlessDave/DeadDave/DumbSheepDave, dead to my own worthiness.  I’ve had tastes of being dead to Dave’sFlesh in the past, but they were momentary.  This is more of an ongoing experience.  Someone suggested after last week’s post, that DeadDave would be easier for others to accept than WorthlessDave, but as I’ve thought about it, WorthlessDave gets more to the point.  I now realize I never understood Romans 6.  I can’t be dead to myself — to my own worthiness/righteousness, until I consider it worthless.  That’s been my problem since I became a Christian at age 24 — I’ve not considered my own worthiness to be worthless.  I’ve LOVED my own worthiness, LOVED being right, LOVED winning, LOVED my favorite sports team winning, LOVED feeling superior to others in some way, shape, or form, LOVED people watching, looking for weaknesses, LOVED being frugal, LOVED accomplishing with excellence, LOVED having a cool, fast car, LOVED strong.  Hated weakness.  I’ve not been dead, but alive, to my flesh.  I’ve been unconsciously striving to be WorthyDave, striving so, so hard to AVOID being WorthlessDave.

So now, when I notice my flesh rising up — feeling competitive or judgmental, I ask myself, “Do you really wannabe WorthyDave, living in worthiness prison, addicted to your own worthiness again?”  And my answer is, “NOOOO.”  Like a recovering heroin addict, I dowanna go back to that lifestyle ever again, that unrelenting pressure to perform, to achieve, to excel, to be worthy.  Because my flesh/addiction/idolatry is never satisfied, always wants MORE.  Bottomless pit of neediness.  Terrible, horrible, no-good, very-bad lifestyle/addiction.  No peace, only pressure.  I never knew I lived under so much pressure 24/7, because the pressure seemed so normal.

Jesus — and a believer’s identity in Jesus, is never really, really precious, to a man alive to his own worthiness.  Only a man freshly dead to his own worthiness, really cares about Jesus and His imputed worthiness, and only a dead man has the peace that passes understanding.  A dead man feels ZERO pressure.  He doesn’t CARE about success or failure, being right or wrong, being admired or pitied, or even rejected.  Dead to all the things that charm his flesh, and terrify his flesh.

Except.  When I feel lousy, physiologically — which is about a third of the time, I’m likely to be impatient, irritated, wanting some worthiness, freshly alive to Dave’sFlesh.  WorthyDave resurrected.

And.  I still need to be reminded throughout my day, of His sovereignty over every detail of my life.  Trusting in His sovereignty is essential to my experiencing other-worldly peace.  Maybe I’ll get so dead to my flesh that I won’t need this, but I ain’t there yet.

—WorthlessDave/DeadDave/DumbSheepDave, who never imagined life could be so good

P.S.  This post above is my journaling from Sunday morning.  Then Monday I listened to probably the best single sermon I’ve ever heard.   Bigtime disgraced pastor, Tullian Tchividjian, understandably scorned by many, quoting Jack Miller, with a message compelling and validating, to someone as pathetic as I.

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